Don't You Know Which Clothes Even Fit Me?
by CarbonBlack
Summary: When America is coerced into retrieving England from one of the last places in the world he expected to find the Brit, he sets out on a mission to experience and expose this interesting and strangely un-lame side of his former brother.
1. If

**AN: Standard disclaimers apply. Just a short thing I spat out in an hour or two. Inspired by the questionably-canon idea that Iggy has a tattoo (see the translated lyrics of Marukaite Chikyuu England ver.) of an electric guitar; I imagine America would be pretty shocked by this phenomena. Hope you enjoy, and please leave a review. This is meant to be a one-shot, but maybe I'll add to it if anyone has suggestions or..something. yeah.**

* * *

The music, brash and ear bursting and violent, could be heard all the way from the parking lot of the venue, where one Alfred F. Jones currently found himself stationed in slack-jawed awe. Even from his position, where it was impossible to make out any actual lyrics, it was plain what the songs called for; they cried 'Riot! Destruction!'- begging the obliteration of the government systems of the world and the laws they put down. It was all electric guitar screeches and drums crashing, heavy bass lines and vocalizations worthy of the Banshee Arthur used to tell him horror-stories of when he was still but a little colony.

He made his way towards the building reluctantly, thinking to himself, "_This can NOT be the right place_", as a set of security guards hauled a writhing and screaming man between them –who was profusely oozing not only blood from his busted chops, but also protests and every obscene word Alfred had ever heard plus quite a length of ones he hadn't- out the doors and on to the pavement harshly. He skirted around the trio as he made his way to the doors, overhearing something about concealed weapons and police before he hefted one of the large metal doors opened only to be slapped in the face with the same music he'd heard from his car, now at a volume he was _positive_ would cause him permanent inner-ear damage.

This was not what he'd been prepared for when Arthur's boss called him in the middle of the night and pleaded that he go detain his ex-brother, because it would be '_wholly unacceptable for public officials such as themselves to be seen at such an unsavory place_' but that it was '_absolutely vital that _someone_ go and wrangle Arthur in, and who better for the job than The Hero_ America?'; Oh no. He'd assumed it would be another of the occasional trips to gather a weepy and nostalgic Arthur up from a bar and lug his drunk ass home to bed. _That_, he could handle. _That_ wouldn't have seemed so… So outright resembling something straight from The Twilight Zone! THIS was just…plain fucking crazy!

Someone had to be playing a joke on him. Ha ha, wake America in the middle of the night and send him to a _punk rock show_. To pick up _England_. Who was _at_ the punk rock show _willingly_. ENGLAND. Sweater-vest-wearing, tea-drinking, unicorn-loving _Arthur Kirkland_. Couldn't they have at least picked a more _believable_ prank, for Liberty's sake? If he hadn't been half asleep at the time, he never would have agreed to groggily hop across the pond for this, because it was just too damn absurd an idea.

He presented a government ID card to the grungy-looking kid doing security at the door, and although he gave Alfred some awfully dirty looks, once Alfred assured him that he was NOT there to interrupt the show or cause problems, but merely to pick up a friend (which got him a very unconvinced look on top of the scowl and glare), he was let in without a hitch. He began making his way through the jumping, screaming, violent throng of bodies that was the crowd, wondering how the hell he was supposed to actually find Arthur if he was, in fact, attending the concert- Which he was still most assuredly unconvinced of.

On top of the low-quality and extraordinarily loud music assaulting his poor, poor ears, the place was waging an all-out war on the rest of his senses as well. The concert hall reeked of sweat, alcohol and pot, making Alfred wrinkle his nose. The people were crammed together like sardines and still somehow found a way to writhe and howl like a pack of crazed animals, making him suddenly very grateful for his stature as he attempted to shove his way between them. Smoke and a seizure-worthy light show stung his eyes, making it even more difficult for them to adjust to the new surroundings, and he could very nearly _taste_ the excitement that the whole building buzzed with.

He had to admit, though, that the energy was awesome. Not a single person was standing still for even a moment; dancing , yelling, throwing their fists viciously into the air and- …and into other peoples _faces_ up closer to the stage where there seemed to be some sort of battle royal going on- and all the expressions were animated. Hell, if Alfred hadn't come in with a mission, he'd probably find it very easy to get swept up into this version of mass hysteria. Maybe he'd stay a while if he could confirm that Arthur wasn't around, which he was only more sure he could do after winding his way into the middle of the crowd and experiencing better the total chaotic atmosphere; this really didn't seem like his mother nation's style _at all_.

"Ow! The hell..?"

Alfred ducked, swearing (although his voice was drowned out), when something that seemed suspiciously like a body collided with the side of his head. From his new, slightly lower position, he peered up while rubbing his bumped noggin to find that his assaulter had in fact been a person, whom the rest of the crowd was passing over top of them for some reason unbeknownst to him.

A.. really strongly familiar person, actually- despite the tattered jeans, boots, Spray-painted shirt, and the only hardly audible "_Fuck_ The System! Anarchy in the UK!" that was being bellowed in a raspy but blatantly Arthur-like voice. Alfred's jaw just about hit the floor.

"Oh sweet Jesus, _no way_. What. The. _FUCK_?!", He exclaimed (and he could actually be heard vaguely this time, earning some odd looks from the purple-haired girl to his left), pushing through the people around him with his eyes locked on to this could-actually-be-Arthur boy that was still being tossed across the sea of bodies like a skipping rock. He was actually _**here**_?! What the hell was going on?!

He finally managed to get himself underneath his target, and when he was able to get his arms above him, he wrenched said target right out from above the crowd and pulled him down among the the rest of the bodies around him- Effectively irritating the people in their immediate vicinity, due to the addition to the already-crowded space, as well as Arthur (for surely, that's who it was; There was no mistaking him up close, regardless of the weird clothing). Before Arthur even had the opportunity to see who it was grabbing him, Alfred hoisted him over a shoulder and began the epic journey back toward the front doors, the Brit sqwaking and flailing in indignation from the second his lovely crowd-surfing was so rudely interrupted.

"What the _bloody fuck_ are you doing, you sodding _tosser_?!" Arthur screeched in Alfred's ear, even still not having gotten a good look at his apparent kidnapper due to the swiftness with which he was taken hostage. "If you don't have a mind-numbingly brilliant explanation for this, God save me, I'm going to beat seven shades of shit out of y-"

Just as they reached the doors, after a very rushed escape that left quite a few angry pedestrians in their wake, Arthur recognized the jacket upon which he was forcibly perched; The well-loved and decorated brown leather underneath him was easy to pick out.

"..._America_?" Arthur nearly-yelped in disbelief.

"The one and only~" Alfred replied as he brushed past the security guard at the door, who seemed to be in search of a phone, presumably to call the police over the ruckus he was causing.

"What on earth are you doing here? And _put me down_, for god's sake, I'm perfectly capable of walking!"

"_Me_? What are _YOU_ doing here?! This is a hell of a place to wander into when you're drunk!" The younger hollered despite the fact that he could be heard clearly now that they were in the parking lot, "And you weren't complaining about wanting to walk when those kids in there were passing you around like a beach ball, so why start now?" Alfred quickened his pace to just shy of a run when a decent handful of burly-looking bouncers came stampeding through the front doors after them [He could take them, easy, but his boss would be _pissed_, so a fight was best avoided].

"I am not _drunk_, you wanker!" Arthur flushed indignantly, still struggling (and making the get-away operation a lot more difficult on his previous colony), "And this is my country, I can go where I bloody well like! You, however- Unf!" he was cut off momentarily when America chucked him unceremoniously into the passenger seat of his car from the driver's side door, the blue-eyed male diving in after him, "- Were not invited to come gallivanting around on my land causing trouble!"

"Your boss called and _asked_ me to come get you, thank you very much, so I _was_ invited!" Alfred slammed the car door behind them and riffled through his pockets briefly for the keys before he jammed them into the ignition, started the car, and peeled out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell (narrowly avoiding a hit-and-run with the security guards).

Whatever response Arthur had was cut short when he was slammed backward into his seat courtesy of Newton's First Law. He buckled his seat belt as soon as his brain stopped rattling in his skull (demanding that Alfred do the same, for which he received the rolling of a pair of baby-blues) and commenced his irritated not-pouting-- because Arthur Kirkland _does not_ pout, it's _undignified_- displeased by both his extraction from a smashing good time and the knowledge that his boss had sent a (very stupid) one-man search party out for him just because he'd disappeared for a couple _measly_ hours. Well, okay so it was more like six or something, but he'd been around for a LOT longer than his boss and he could damn well take care of _himself_!

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, in which both parties mutely assessed that it didn't appear they were being followed by either cops nor an angry mob of punks. The sky outside was dark and starless, thick with pregnant rain clouds that threatened to burst at any given second. The car smelled faintly of fast food, smoke, and sweat (the former due to the frequent McDonalds consumption that took place within the interior, the latter two clinging stubbornly to the Island Nation present and slowly infecting the air), but none of the o dors were so strong as to be altogether unpleasant. Still, Arthur sighed moodily and slumped against the passenger door with his arms crossed over his chest. Leave it to that bloody American to wreck his night.

The quiet didn't last very long, however; few instances of quiet ever did when Alfred was involved. It didn't take the American much time to assess that England was in a bad mood, and he figured the best battle plan would be to occupy him wit some sort of conversation. After all, he didn't want to be stuck in a car with a brooding Brit in the middle of the night. He chanced a brief glance at the shorter blonde before remembering the questions that had been tugging at him since he caught sight of the mussy-headed blonde.

"So Arty, why the concert? With all that 'down with government' and 'Stick it to the man' stuff, it doesn't really seem like something you'd be into."

"How many times have I _told you_ not to call me that?", He bit, taking a small second to seeth before continuing, "Punk music originated in the UK, you twat. It's only natural that I appreciate something my people came up with and put a lot of heart into."

"Pfft. Yeah, okay. Then what's up with the threads? Not that you don't look, ah, cool or whatever, because it's a huge improvement on the sweater-vests and loafers; Those are _so_ lame. You actually look pretty awesome right now, with the whole grunge thing going on, but still. I didn't think you _owned_ a pair of jeans, let alone ones that look like they've been around as long as _you_ have. Everything you wear is so stuffy." He stuck his tongue out with childish distaste, garnering a mild swat to the back of the head.

"This is proper attire for the event, and I'll have you know that I own a lot of clothing you've never seen on me. I'm sure I have plenty of things in my closet that would surprise you, wha with your dim wits and lack of international socializing (at this, Alfred scoffed; Who was _England_ to lecture about being anti-social? Arthur chose to ignore him). I'm not as supposedly unstylish as you seem to think."

Alfred laughed, earning himself an irritated glare.

"Yeah, England, sure. After having to forcibly remove you from a punk rock concert, of all things, I think it'd be pretty hard to surprise me. Maybe if you had, like.." He paused for a moment to come up with the most far-fetched thing he could think of, "Leather pants, and a tattoo or piercings or something. Yeah. Maybe then I'd be surprised."

Being focused on the road, he missed the cheeky grin that made its way to the older nation's lips, and the way his green eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, Arty, That's so."

The car was quiet again as they pulled into Arthur's drive-way. Alfred parked the car and unlocked the doors, expecting Arthur to make an immediate and huffy departure. He turned to wish his fellow nation good-night, to find Arthur had un-buckled but was seemingly without intentions to actually leave the vehicle- he was leaning with his back on the passenger door, his arms still crossed, and his face adorned with a rather smug look.

"…What?" Alfred asked, trying to thing of what he could have said to set off that sort of look.

Arthur closed his eyes briefly and his grin widened while he savored his imminent victory. After a pause of but a few seconds he sat up and shifted to kneel on the seat, facing Alfred. They locked eyes, blues looking perplexed against greens that clearly sang 'I know something you don't know~'.

In one fluid movement, England pulled up his shirt with one hand and tugged the top hem of his jeans down with the other, revealing an intricate and utterly _badass_ looking electric guitar in red and black inks over the inside curve of his left hip bone, nicely decorating approximately 6x4 inches of alabaster flesh.

"I've got two sets of black leather -Complete with pants, vests, boots, jackets and hats- in my wardrobe. Rather flamboyant if you ask me, but they come in handy on.. _certain_ occasions. Perhaps you'd like to see those as well at some later date? And just because you don't happen to _see_ any piercings at the moment, doesn't mean I haven't got them. As I said:," his grin widened further, and Alfred was reminded of the paintings in Arthur's house from his pirate days, "Punk originated in _me_." He released his hold on his clothing, letting it fall back into place, "At any rate, I believe the terminology the youth of your nation would use in this situation is, 'So _suck it_'. Good-night, America."

With that, Arthur took his leave of the vehicle and strolled triumphantly into his abode, looking for all the world like the cat that got the cream and leaving Alfred to gawk after him in utter and total astonishment.

"…Well fuck," Alfred spoke to himself aloud when his brain finally caught up with him, "If this hasn't been one of the weirdest nights of my life, I don't know what- ..Oh _fu_-- Holy _**shit**_, did _England_ just proposition me for _**SEX**_?!"


	2. You

**AN: Due to the overwhelming (for me, at least; My stories aren't usually taken to so well) response to this fic and the requests to do so, I've decided to add to this story. I thought I'd be cool and take the suggestion of one of my reviewers, which said that I should add a chapter about rap and/or hip-hop originating in America, but I couldn't think of how I would have wanted to do that exactly. It's a fabulous idea, and I figure that after some research I might go ahead and do just that, but as for now, I'll just do what I usually do and sort of let things write themselves.**

**Thanks to all my reviewers for the comments and suggestions, they really made me very happy~**

**"~*~" is for a change in scene.  
"**_Italics_**" Of course is emphasis, but will also from here on out also be used for words/phrases that are not in English.**

* * *

It had been a solid week since 'The Concert Incident', and much to Alfred's displeasure, he had yet to further observe that interesting and very strange side of his used-to-be caretaker again. Not to say he hadn't tried to catch at least glimpses; hell, he had spent very nearly ALL his free time in Arthur's company, hoping something would spark that part of the Briton's personality, but no such luck.

He was beginning to think he had dreamed the whole thing. Arthur had made no further comment on the event, wasn't behaving any differently than usual, and if not for the phone records (which Alfred had felt necessary to get a copy of to prove to himself that he wasn't going crazy) showing very plainly that he'd gotten that call from Arthur's boss, Alfred would have been sure that he'd just imagined the whole thing.

After all, it was sort of hard to believe.

He watched the Island nation idly from his seat across the table. They were sitting in Arthur's breakfast nook, Alfred having invited himself to stay over the night before so they could attend the nations' meeting that was being held in London today together. They had gone through their respective morning routines in virtual disregard for each other's presence, by an agreement that they'd rather not be at one another's throats until after at least 8:00am, and that the best way to do that was to stay out of each other's way as much as possible.

The room's lighting was sparse, there being little adequate natural lighting at the moment despite the large window that the table was positioned in front of. The sky had opened up sometime during the night, the clouds letting out a cascade of chilly spring rain that rapped out an erratic but soothing melody on the roof of Arthur's home. The room itself was mildly chilled, even; Arthur had cracked the window slightly to let in the fresh smell of crisp grass and streets being cleaned by nature's showers. The wind was minimal today, making such an action possible without having the many little water droplets invade the indoors.

Despite the troposphere being occupied by the rain clouds, the sun _was_ shining through to a degree, suggesting that there was a possibility of some lovely rainbows later on, even it wasn't quite bright enough to bring much light in from outside. Really, it was a nice, peaceful morning.

Alfred sipped his coffee, which, by the way, he was downright shocked to have found in his fellow nation's house ("It's not here for me, and I certainly do _not_ have it around just for _you_! A proper host has to have adequate means to appease the tastes of his guests, is all, so don't you give me that cocky look!"). Looking at Arthur now, who was nursing at his tea and reading the morning paper in his usual attire with a calm, but vaguely displeased expression, it seemed unthinkable that this was the same man who'd flashed him a pane of tattooed flesh and a cavalier grin not but eight nights prior.

Where the hell did that attitude _go_? He hadn't seen hide nor hair of it since the night of that concert. How does he keep it tucked away like that? The ability was downright annoying. This was the nation that brought the punk movement into the world, with his neatly ironed trousers and his button down shirt? Hell, this was the ex-pirate, the used-to-be bandit ruler of the vast and treacherous seas, drinking out of a delicate little porcelain teacup? **This** was the guy who used to hold very nearly a quarter of the _**entire world's**_ population in the palm of his hand (which Alfred only really knew because other nations had told him horror stories)? What the hell _happened _here?

"America,"

Alfred jumped slightly, having almost forgotten that he was actually in the same room as Arthur while he was lost in his own little world, and found that the Englishman had fixed him with an irritated scowl.

"Wha..?"

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stop ogling me with that dumbfounded look on your face like I was one of those two-headed mutant cows your country manages to produce with all the asinine chemical injections you so nicely bestow upon your livestock." (**1)**

"Hey! Those are _accidents_, okay?! It's not _my_ fault that the scientist haven't figured out how to do it right."

"_You're_ an accident. If you and your people weren't such gluttons, maybe you wouldn't _have_ two-headed cows from the attempts to produce larger animals in a frivolous quest to satiate your unquenchable appetites."

"Did you just call me fat, you dick?!"

"What? No, I didn't, but since you've _mentioned_ it, when _was_ the last time you stepped on a scale? All that fast food isn't doing your physique any favors. And as far as your citizens go, the fattest person in the world came from your Michigan. She weighed in at an outrageous **_539.321 kilograms_**. That's more than a cow, you know." (**2**)

"You shouldn't bad-mouth dead people, England, that's not _gentlemanly_. Besides, that record is out of date. Get with the times, old man."

"Belt up, you worthless prat! Someone who can let their weight get that out of hand is rather _askin_g to be bad-mouthed, and if you don't stop stuffing your face with those heart-attacks-on-buns all the bloody time, you'll beat her record in short order anyway."

"I'm not fat, you grouchy, senile bastard! You're just mad because you have to eat that nasty English food all the time! I understand though; I mean, _I'd_ probably be pissed off if I had to eat that shit every day."

"You **did** eat _'that shit'_ every day, when I came to take care of your ungrateful arse when you were a colony! You didn't have any complaints _then_. You **liked** my cooking, I'll have you know."

"No way! I was just too sweet and innocent to realize you were trying to destroy my taste-buds before I had the chance to realize how disgusting the stuff you were feeding me was! It was practically child abuse! I should have just let France take care of me when I was a kid; at least he can _cook_."

"I'll _show_ you child abuse, you pisshead!"

Arthur promptly vaulted over the table, bulldozing the breakfast dishes to the floor (most of them shattered; the entire area was doused in a strange mixture English Breakfast tea, and Gevalia coffee with enough sugar content to single-handedly rot the teeth of all the children of the northern hemisphere), tackled the American clear out of his chair, and started throwing punches.

"_So much for not picking fights before 8:00am_", they both thought in the backs of their minds, before they became too involved in their battle to consider anything other than distributing as much bodily harm as possible.

The faeries, out in the garden, grieved the loss of their tranquil morning as they listened to the commotion from the safety of Arthur's flower beds.

~*~

* * *

1: I'd be willing to bet that pretty much every country pumps their livestock full of chemicals at this point, actually, but ya know. Comments being hypocritical very rarely prevent them from being said.

2: Truefacts. Carol Ann Yager (1960-1994), from Genesee county, Michigan. This, coincidentally, is where yours truly is from (although, not from the same part of Genesee). I felt so much pride at discovering this fact. [/sarcasm] For my fellow uneducated Americans who, like myself, don't know how to convert kilograms to pounds, she weighed 1189lbs.

* * *

~*~

Their scuffle had very nearly demolished Arthur's eating area. It had lasted for a solid forty-five some-odd minutes before they managed to take out one of the table-legs, bringing the very _solid_ piece of wood furniture down on the both of them, upon which time they silently concurred that their rage had been adequately vented.

They bypassed the awkward 'make-up' phase that most people would go through after a brawl (after all, they had petty fights on a regular basis; At this point, when their melees were over with, they usually just went about business as usual), collaborated to re-construct and tidy the 'battleground' to the best of their ability, and then went about the process of tending wounds.

They were all fairly minor. A few nasty scrapes, a lot of blotchy purple-yellow bruises, some split lips; No chipped teeth or broken bones, and nothing that would cause lasting damage. Neither of the two required a trip to the hospital, so all-in-all, it had been one of their more tame fist-fights. Looking at them however, with their bandages, darkened patches of skin and drying blood, torn clothes stained with a coffee-tea hybrid, mussed hair… they really rather looked like they'd been ambushed by a small mob in the back-alleys of New York.

They got quite a number of looks when they arrived at the meeting, late (which was normal for Alfred, but no one could remember Arthur having ever been late for a meeting before) by a good thirty minutes. The meeting that was taking place in Arthur's _own country_. He felt like an awful host.

They shuffled to their seats while the other nations gawked at them, Alfred feigning obliviousness as to why everyone was staring, Arthur with as much dignity as he could manage while mumbling an apology with an embarrassed pink on his cheeks. Ludwig looked absolutely aggravated. He stared the room's occupants down, mentally did a head check, and then sighed.

"Okay, Everyone is present and accounted for. Let's begin."

The day's discussions began with the age-old topic of global warming. The group failed to make any progress, as usual, and decided to try for something else. They gave world economics a shot, then non-renewable resources, the scientific progress against various diseases.. these few topics spurred arguments that had lasted nearly three hours total, and what did they end up accomplishing?

Nothing. They came to absolutely no decisions whatsoever.

"Have a lover's spat this morning, _Angleterre_?" a certain Frenchman snickered quietly during Feliks's speech about how he thought everyone should ride ponies rather than drive cars, because it was '_Like, totally way better for the planet and stuff, but like, more importantly, they're just so so completely adorable!'_.

Arthur, with his temper still on edge from he and Alfred's fight that morning with the added stress of getting nothing done at the meeting, not to _mention_ that he was late for a meeting he was meant to _host_, certainly wasn't in the mood for Francis's mouth.

"…If you don't keep your nancy trap closed, I'm going break it. We'll see how well you can spout bollocks with your jaw wired shut." was Arthur's retort.

"Touchy this morning, no? I would think that after a fight with _Amérique_, you'd think better of getting into a second with _moi_,_mon chéri_."

"I may have burned quite a lot of energy beating Alfred's face in, but there's easily enough left over to take out a pathetic frog."

"You _so_ did not beat my face in. I totally would have won if your shoddy British table hadn't tried to kill us." Alfred interjected.

"_Please_. And for your information, the table was Italian."

"Are you implying that there's something _wrong_ with Italian furniture, you bastard?" Lovino questioned with an angry scowl, having caught wind of the potential insult.

"There's something wrong with our furniture? But we worked so hard.." Feliciano looked like he might start crying.

"Lovi, Feli, I don't think England meant to say-"

"Enough! We're in the middle of a meeting that already began later than intended!" Ludwig interrupted Antonio's attempts to placate the Italian twins, looking very agitated.

"_Sumimasen_, everyone, I agree with-"

"Japan! Stop _agreeing_ with people all the time! Form your own opinions!"

"You're all acting like children, _aru_. I have some snacks, so won't everyone enjoy them and be quiet?"

"I like to be with everyone when they're being so noisy together. It gets lonely at my house; Everyone should come and live with me, right, Lithuana? Then we can all be together all the time~"

"U-umm, I don't-"

"Oh. My. God. Like, stop picking on Liet! That's so totally _not_ okay."

"We really _should_ get on with the meeting, eh.."

"Who?"

"I'm Canada.."

"What? I thought you were America!"

"_No_, Cuba, _I'm_ America. I'm way more awesome than-…uh.."

"CA-NA-DA!"

"Canada originated in me~"

"W-what? I did not-"

"Who?"

"THAT. IS. _**ENOUGH!**_" Ludwig bellowed, slamming a fist down on the table hard enough to splinter the wood, "This is a meeting, and you are all to behave properly! If this petty arguing continues we will never get anything done! As such, I will now take full control of this assembly! We will all present our cases and arguments in an organized fashion!"

Ludwig paused in his speech to confirm that he had everyone's attention.

H found the room to be utterly silent.

"Yes, well.. Good." Ludwig cleared his throat, "Now, who would like the floor?"

The eldest Italian boy raised a hand.

"Yes, Romano, what-"

"I'm hungry, damn it! I move we take an early lunch."

"Oh, Lovi, what a good idea!" Antonio agreed, ever cheerful.

"It's nowhere _near_ time for lunch!" The German argued.

"_Ve_~ Germany, I want vermicelli!"

"Yeah, I could use a trip to McDonalds about now."

"Didn't we _just_ discuss your weight problem earlier this morning?"

"You accused _Amérique _of being over weight? That is not something to say when courting someone,_Angleterre__!"_

_"Courting?!" _Arthur and Alfred chorused indignantly.

_"__**Alright**__!" _Ludwig rubbed the bridge of his nose, exasperated, "Romano's movement for early lunch has passed, so-"

"Uh, we haven't voted yet…"

"**GET. OUT**."

There was a momentary pause in which no one moved nor said anything (With the exception of the Italians, who's self-preservation instincts suggested they take cover under the table). Then, all at once and in a bit of a hurry, everyone moved to leave. Some quicker than others, but still, no one particularly cared to further the angry blonde man's mood.

So, the nations were taking lunch. At 10:30am.

It's amazing how productive these meetings are.

It hadn't been a total waste, though. Sometime during the discussion on scientific healthcare advancements, Alfred concocted somewhat of a vague plan, and had made some very useful observations.

He had come to a conclusion as to how this supposed gentleman repressed his pirate's heart. He had realized, Arthur really did it pretty poorly. What kind of proper gentleman swears like Arthur does? Is as easily provoked to violence? Had France trying to relinquish his rule over all things sexual to him? None, that's what kind, so the conclusion?

Arthur Kirkland was obviously in some sort of deep-rooted denial. Or something like that; Alfred wasn't renowned for his psychology expertise, after all.

Now, how do you break someone out of a very long-standing fit of denial? Obviously, but them in situations where they get too caught up in the goings on to repress themselves! It worked at that concert, didn't it? Worked when Arthur was getting into fights, or really, even when he was just really irritated. His plan was sheer genius! He only had to work out the details.

Alfred and Arthur had decided they'd go fetch some lunch and eat it in a small park nearby. On the menu was McDonald's and Starbucks. Naturally, Arthur had thrown a bit of a benny when he was forced into the home of blood-clots and heart attacks, even though it was a confirmed suspicion among the nations that he actually rather _liked_ McDonald's and only made such a fuss about it on principal; Alfred ordered him a grilled chicken salad and yogurt parfait, which they both knew Arthur would end up eating under the pretense that wasting food was uneconomical and that Alfred certainly wouldn't eat anything so healthy despite all his complaining, getting some unfathomable quantity of cheeseburgers for himself.

One would think that Arthur would have pitched even more of a fit over being hauled into a coffee house, but Starbucks had actually been a joint decision. Anyone who's ever been in a Starbucks would know that on top of the extensive selection of coffee, they also carried a fair variety of teas and cocoa. _Delicious_ teas and cocoa at that, making the overpriced establishment one of the few that the two nations could agree on. They picked up a black tea and a double-chocolate-chip frappuccino before heading off to their chosen eating area.

They situated themselves at a small picnic table off the side of a playground and began their sort of brunch. The grass and soil was still moist from the precipitation earlier on in the day, the air still faintly chilled, but the playground had a sparce number of occupants despite the weather and time of day; A handful of parents and their small children that were too young yet to be in school. Mostly the parents were keeping to themselves as the children played together, but there was one parent, a stay-at-home father, it looked like, running around with a chubby-cheeked little boy who looked to be around four years old.

Oh, this was _perfect _for kicking off his loosely concocted plot! Alfred praised his good luck. He watched the pair for a few moments, idly chewing at one of his burgers.

"They look like they're having fun, huh?", he tried to call attention to the parent-child bonding going on across the playground from them.

"The children?" Arthur asked, not bothering to look up.

"Well yeah, that too, but I meant those two over there. See?" He pointed.

The smaller nation looked up then, jade eyes following Alfred's finger to the parent and his child. He looked on blankly for a moment, before his expression warmed to one of fondness and nostalgia, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Yes, I see. They do seem to be enjoying themselves." He watched as the man lifted the child by his under-arms and spun the small body around, absently chiding Alfred with, "Stop pointing, it's rude."

"You ever miss when we used to spend time together like that?"

Arthur's fond expression immediately retracted into one of faux disregard as he turned his attention back to his food.

"Of course not. I never liked you; you were an annoying little kid."

"Aw, Artie, don't lie! I was an awesome little kid! You _liked_ having me around."

"You brought wild animals home and cried when I told you they had to stay outside. You were loud, threw fits when you didn't get your way, you hated getting baths and always made me sit in your room with you until you went to sleep any time I came to see you. Then you'd bawl and scream and have a tantrum every time I had to leave, saying '_I'll hate you if you go!_' like a spoilt little brat."

"Yeah, but all kids do that stuff. You loved me anyway and we all know it, so there." Alfred stuck his tongue out.

Arthur's cheeks pinked with embarrassment (though he'd say it was from irritation if he were asked) and he chose to ignore the other nation in favor of picking at his salad.

Alfred let it stay quiet for the meager amount of time that his patience would allow. We all know exactly how meager that is, of course.

"You know, we should like... pick a day, sometime soon, and hang out."

"You've been following me around everywhere for nearly a week, you insufferable prat, doesn't that count?"

"Of course not!" Alfred pouted, "I mean, you know, like quality time or..something. Spend a whole day doing stuff together, like we used to when I was a kid."

"... You want me to take you to park or something? Make you do school lessons before lunch and then tuck you in for a nap?" Arthur quirked an eyebrow at him with a amused little smirk.

"_No_! I don't mean we should do the same stuff, of anything. We could, uh, pick a city and go sight-seeing! Someplace neither of us have been for a while! Then get lunch and go to the movies, and then, um.. more.. sight-seeing or something, before dinner! After, we could go out to a bar or a club, and go to a concert, or a concert and then to the bar! Doesn't that sound awesome?!"

"It sounds like a _date_." Arthur looked even more amused now, a hand covering his mouth as he tried to stifle his not-giggles (because he's _manly_, damn it, and manly men don't _giggle,_ for Christs' sake!).

"W-what?! No, no, not like that!" Alfred blushed, "It's just fun to do that stuff, I didn't mean it like-"

"Yes, yes, I _know_." Arthur had managed to get over his snickering fit, "That's- Yes, alright. I suppose I could find the time."

Alfred looked hopeful, although like he wasn't sure if he should believe he got an affirmative or not.

"..Really?"

"I said it was alright, didn't I? Have your people call my people, we'll have to find out when we're both free."

"Awesome!" Alfred flung himself over the table to yank the other nation into a bone-crushing hug, "Thanks, Artie, this is going to be so cool!"

"G-get off of me, you twat, you're going to break my bloody ribs!" He shoved the overzealous blonde away from him, fitting an annoyed scowl onto his face despite the fact that he really wasn't _that_ bothered, "Finish your food, we need to get back to the meeting soon."

Alfred returned to his side of the table and got after his food hurriedly, blathering (with his mouth full, for which he got a lecture and a thump on the head) about how excited he was, how much fun they were going to have, and how awesome he was for coming up with such an awesomely awesome idea in the first place.

* * *

**AN: Well, there's that. I had some problems getting this finished, because I have aweful luck with computers.  
I'll start working on the next chapter ASAP, but I'm going to need to think about it a little bit first, and do some research for their outing, ect.**

**_Please_ ****review if you have any comments/suggestions/questions/whatever. Reviews make me happy, and as I'm sure you can see by the fact that I'm turning a one-shot into a multi-chapter fic based solely on the fact that so many people had nice things to say, they're also very good at spurring me into getting things done. ;3**

Translations:  
**France**-  
_Angleterre_ - England.  
_Amérique_ - America.  
_Moi_ - Me/myself.  
_Mon chéri_ - My darling/dear.  
**China**-  
_Aru_ - Not an actual word, from what I know. Yao's speech tick.  
**Japan**-  
_Sumimasen_ - I'm sorry/Excuse me.  
**Italy**-  
_Ve_ - Also a speech tick that does not appear to be an actual word.


	3. Could

**A/N**: I'm really, really sorry for how long this took me, but I got really stuck with this and wasn't quite sure where to go with the story, let alone the chapter, but I think now I've got a kind-of gist on where I want to head. In compensation for taking so long (AKA, I wouldn't expect this kind of work from me again! xD), this chapter is more than **TWICE** as long as both of the first two chapters _**put together**_! I'll usually only do around seven pages at a time at the most, and this chapter came to…thirty-six in MSW. Yeah. That's a real stretch from seven. I had to put a lot of work into it, doing a whole lot of research and stuff to try and get things as accurate as possible, and then actually sitting down and writing, and then going back and changing things and re-writing scenes, and just… yeah. It's probably not the best, but I put forth more effort than I'm normally willing to, so I hope you all enjoy it.

Fortunately for many and maybe unfortunately for some, I've elected to make this a full blown USxUK (though not necessarily in that order) fic. Sorry for any of those watching this story would rather not see it go in that direction, but I couldn't really think of how to move the story otherwise without being really abrupt about things, so.

In other news, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my dear darling **Natalie**, because when I finally decided it was time to crack down and get this thing rolling, she let me bounce ideas off her and helped me do my research. She read my other two chapters, even though she isn't that familiar with Hetalia, and was supportive and listened to all my whining and all that other good stuff. So, thanks, Nat! Love ya!  
I'd also like to dedicate it to **Ame Mika'zuki, **for making a suggestion that I loosely formed this chapter around. Thank you very much!  
/end really long AN.

* * *

Alfred did not, in fact, have his People call Arthur's People.

Oh no.

He opted instead to call his own People. He discussed with them any time he could plausibly take off in the near future, then called Arthur and forced him to do the same to _his_ People. Arthur then had to call Alfred again, and relay to him when he would be able to make space in his schedule. Alfred, of course, by then, had forgotten when HE was able to take time off, and had to re-contact his People. This process took almost an hour and a half. Arthur had nearly called the whole thing off in a fit of irritation over Alfred's inability to do anything the simple way (which is surprising, as the boy is incredibly simple _minded_). Alfred pleaded and whined and nagged until Arthur finally acquiesced to sticking to the original plan, and they both managed to clear away space in their calendars and set aside some time to spend together in mid-spring.

Alfred boarded a plane from his capitol the night prior his first official vacation day. After a seven and a half hour flight (mostly spent sleeping, and partly spent watching the in-flight movie, which happened to be the '05 version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), the plane touched down in London the next morning. Having not previously discussed his exact time of arrival with Arthur, he hailed a cab to retrieve him from the airport, and was shortly deposited with his luggage on Arthur's doorstep.

After noting that it was still quite early, and being the considerate person he was (EG; Not wanting to get a lecture on disturbing the neighbors again), Alfred decided against his usual tactic of pounding on the front door and yelling until Arthur came to let him in. He retrieved his phone from the pocket of his beloved jacket, and hit Arthur's number on his contact list.

Alfred waited not-so-patiently, picking lint off his t-shirt and otherwise fidgeting as the device rang..And rang...And rang…And rang some more. Finally, just before the call was sent to voicemail, a very groggy-sounding Englishman picked up.

"_Nnng_..Who'n th'hell..?" Came a garbled mumble, before Arthur spoke up, " H'lo?"

"Good morning, Starshine! The earth says hello!"

"…America?"

"Well, yeah." Alfred scoffed, "Who else calls a shut-in like you? Anyway, I'm here, and I didn't want to knock and bother the neighbors, so come let me in."

"….You're here?"

"S'what I just said."

"Right now?"

"Uh_, yeah_. Otherwise I wouldn't have said 'I'm here'. Do your ears not work right with your brain until after your second cup of leaf-water in the morning?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, followed by a strangled growl and the dial tone. Alfred removed the phone from his ear and gave it a slight quizzical look, before shrugging, closing the cell, and cramming it back into his pocket. Shortly thereafter, stomping feet could be heard from the inside of the house, progressively getting closer to the door, before locks could be heard turning and the poor door was flung open mercilessly.

"_Alfred F Jones_!-"

"-That's me!" Alfred grinned widely and unceremoniously pulled the shorter blonde in for a brief embrace that squeezed all the air out of Arthur's lungs, before grabbing his luggage and brushing past the momentarily-caught-off-guard Brit. Once in the foyer, he dropped his bags and turned to address his fellow nation, only to take pause and stare for a moment. "Uh, Arthur? Why are you walking around in your underwear?"

Sure enough, Arthur was standing there, looking quite outraged, clad only in a pair of black boxers adorned with little Jolly Rogers **(1)** (which, incidentally, gave Alfred another look at that tattoo; It was really rather well done, quite a lot of detail). Arthur slammed his front door closed and gritted his teeth, leveling Alfred with a glare that could certainly send small children into tears.

"Do you have _any idea_ what time it is?" Arthur asked, seeming as though he was putting a phenomenal amount of effort into keeping his voice at a normal level.

"…No?"

Arthur took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "It is _three-thirteen_ in the _fucking_ morning, Jones."

"…Oh. Ah, I'm sorry?" Alfred smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"America. I am going _back_ to _bed_. You can pick a guestroom and dump your things, and then entertain yourself until I get up, in _four bleeding hours_. So help me god, if I wake up and there is so much as a speck of _dust_ out of place, I will feed you your own _innards_ for breakfast. Have I made myself _perfectly clear_?"

Alfred considered the idea of telling Arthur that his own innards were probably more appetizing than anything Arthur could conceivably concoct in a kitchen, and the probable results of making such a claim at just this particular time.

He decided he preferred his vital regions attached, rather than in a jar of formaldehyde on Arthur's mantelpiece, and gave Arthur a thumbs-up.

"Crystal, Artie!"

Arthur glowered at him for several more seconds, then stomped up the stairs from whence he came, promising to himself that he would avenge his lost sleep later, when his brain was functioning at its normal level (after his first two cups of tea).

~*~

* * *

**(1)** For those who don't know, the Jolly Roger is the skull and crossbones/skull and crossed cutlasses (and in case you don't know what a cutlass is, that would be the type of sword that pirates are traditionally shown as having used) insignia that one would find upon a pirate flag. I felt the British flag boxers have been overdone.

* * *

~*~

Alfred had elected to take a nap after selecting a room to his liking, setting the alarm on his phone to wake him at six-thirty to give him at least a solid half-hour before his host would awake.

Upon regaining consciousness, Alfred chose to ignore the threat upon his internal organs at the displacement of any household contents, and make breakfast for himself and his host in an attempt to make up for arriving at ungodly hours in the morning. As such, when Arthur entered the kitchen at approximately seven-thirty, properly groomed and dressed to encounter a new day, he was greeted with a table covered in a smorgasbord of breakfast foods and an American in an apron.

"'Morning, Arthur! I see you've put pants on this time." Alfred said, smiling brightly, "I went ahead and fixed up a pot of your leaf-water, since you don't understand the glory that is coffee."

Arthur glanced around the kitchen in an attempt to find a reason to complain and, when he found none, scowled and poured himself a cup of tea before taking a seat at the (recently replace) table, grumbling slightly, "I thought I told you not to touch anything."

"Well, yeah, but," Alfred untied the plain apron and hung it in its proper place when he finished plopping the last of the pancakes into a teetering pile on a plate, bringing it to set on the table, "I figured you wouldn't mind too much if it was for a good cause. I didn't make a mess, anyway, so it's okay, right?"

Arthur nursed his tea; It wasn't _horrible_... "I suppose so."

"Great!" He took a seat at the table opposite Arthur, "Well, let's dig in, then! After breakfast we can talk about what we wanna do today!"

"'Want to'."

"What?"

"'Want to'; not 'Wanna'. Though, really, it ought to be 'Would like to'. "

"Yeah, Okay, Fine. _Want to_." Alfred rolled his eyes.

Arthur scowled at him momentarily, but decided to let it slide, and they began their meal.

Surprisingly, they managed through the entirety of breakfast without incident, Something they hadn't achieved since before the Revolutionary War. They made casual conversation, neither making any comments that _quite_ roused the other's ire, and very nearly actually enjoyed each other's company. Arthur was almost inclined to ignore the fact that only a handful of hours previous, he'd wanted nothing more than to beat Alfred's skull in with a lamp.

But alas, all good things must come to an end, and just as soon as they'd cleared away the dishes and taken care of the leftover food, Alfred, intent to get started on his main goal for the vacation, had to open his big mouth.

"So, Arthur. You should go get changed, and then we can figure out what we're doing today and get a move on." Alfred commented, putting the final pieces of cutlery into the dishwasher.

"Get changed? In case you failed to notice, I'm _already_ dressed."

"…Oh. You're wearing that, then?" The American crinkled his nose.

"And what exactly is _wrong_ with what I'm wearing?" Arthur's tone was something akin to a housewife with three kids daring her husband to repeat the comment he'd just made about her jeans not fitting quite as well as they had when she'd bought them.

"Well, y'know. The whole middle-aged college professor look you got goin' on is pretty lame, after all, and if we're gunna be running around town together or whatever, I'm going to look less awesome by association."

"_Excuse me_?!"

"You're excused. Jeez, It's _your_ house; You don't have to get _my_ permission to leave the room."

"…Alfred, I'm afraid that if I were to put my ear near yours, I would hear the ocean." Arthur said, temporarily stunned out of anger by his ex-colony's sheer idiocy.

"…What?"

"You're a prat."

"Will you just speak America, so I know what the hell you're saying?!"

"There is _no such language as American_! You speak _English_, albeit a horribly mangled version!"

Finally recognizing that his plan had gone awry, Alfred decided to re-direct the conversation and try a different approach. He hoped flattery would work, because if it didn't, he wasn't sure how to accomplish getting Arthur in legitimately un-formal clothing. He supposed he might be able to change him _forcibly_, but… That would probably get him kicked out.

"Okay, Look, I just meant that-" He paused slightly to come up with plausible reasoning, "-Y'know that one night when I had to drag you out of that concert hall? You should wear clothes kinda like that, because the look suits you a lot better than the boring, prissy old-guy clothes you usually wear. You don't look old enough to wear that crap," Alfred gestured vaguely towards Arthur's choice in attire, "And normal clothes are flattering on you."

Arthur stared at him, torn somewhere between feeling highly offended and moderately complimented. He scowled anyway for good measure, and considered his course of action for a few moments, before coming to a compromise with himself.

"Fine," He consented with a small smile, "I'll dress down for the duration of this vacation of ours-"

"Yes!" Alfred pumped a fist in victory.

"-But _only_ on the condition that I dictate our activities for the next twenty-four hours."

"…Dictate our activities?"

"Yes." Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and looked smug. After all, this was really a no-lose situation for him; He really didn't especially _mind_ 'dressing down' anyway, and if it gained him the perfect opportunity to exact revenge for being knocked up at 3am and being insulted, _well_.. "I'll choose where we go and what we do until this time tomorrow."

Although the look Arthur was wearing made Alfred a little weary, he concluded that, ultimately, the former empire couldn't really come up with anything that'd be too horrible to endure. "The clothes make the man", and Alfred was fairly sure that it was a proven scientific fact that people will act differently depending on the sort of clothes they wore on a given day **(1)**, which made this step important to his overall plans; He, as the hero, could suffer whatever boring activities Arthur came up with for the greater good! They had plenty of time for Alfred to drag Arthur into punk-attitude-inducing situations later.

"Alright, Artie, You're on!"

"Brilliant." Arthur's confident smile stretched into a Cheshire-cat grin, "I'll go change, and then I need to make a few calls."

With that, Arthur strolled out of the kitchen, leaving Alfred to wonder what exactly he'd just gotten himself into.

~*~

* * *

**(1)** I'm pretty certain this IS a scientific fact. If it's not, well, then it's an obvious fact. The easiest example is women; In general, if they wear comfortable clothes, they feel casual and comfy themselves; If they wear a nice skit-suit and heals, they feel confident; If they wear that little red silk dress out dancing, they feel sexy. It's an easy phenomenon to observe in people, and even your truly is very prone to it. Personally, if I'm wearing my punky clothes, I _feel_ more punky. And with America being made up of largely shallow people, I imagine this could very well seem like an important step to Alfred.

* * *

~*~

Alfred had to put a little effort into not ogling his former ruler.

The blue-eyed nation had been instructed to wait in the den while Arthur made his phone calls, and if he leaned just so from the couch, he could get a good look at Arthur, standing in the middle of the kitchen. It wasn't that he was wearing anything especially showy; A long-sleeved black-and-white striped shirt under a well-fitting black t-shirt that read "Nautical Acquisition and Redistribution Specialist" **(1) **in white, snug and faded grey jeans tucked into combat boots, and a Union-Jack-printed belt. It was actually very simple. Just that, Alfred was still yet nowhere used to seeing the other nation in anything that wasn't military issue or couldn't be worn by an Ivy-league student.

And his legs really looked pretty nice in those pants…

The phone tucked to Arthur's ear was snapped shut, and he strutted into the den to drop onto the couch next to Alfred with an accomplished smile.

"Well, everything should be set and ready to go. I'm just waiting on a confirmation call now."

"Oh, okay." Alfred paused, "Um, a confirmation for what?"

"Our lodgings for tonight. As soon as I get the call, we need to grab our things and hit the road."

"We aren't staying in London?"

"No. I thought it might be… _entertaining_, to take a short trip."

"Yeah? How far away?"

"Roughly four hours, by car."

"Where we goin'?"

"Wales."

"…Where is there a whale within four hours of here? Do you have a Sea-World or somethin'?"

"Not whales _the animal_, you dunce! Wales the _country_!"

"Oh. Isn't he like, your brother or something?"

"…Or something, yes."

"I thought you didn't really get along with your brothers?"

"I don't got on with them well usually, no."

"So we're going to see him because..?"

"We're not going to see _him._ We're going a place located _in_ Wales. In Wales the _country_, not Wales the person."

"Oh, alright. Where's Wales, then? Is it by France?"

"_No_! Wales is part of the UK! It boarders 's Channel!"

"Which is located…?"

"Oh, for god's sake! Buy a _map_, you buffoon!"

"I'm not a baboon, y'bastard!"

Before Arthur had the chance to pounce upon Alfred and strangle him within an inch of his life, his cell phone on the coffee table interrupted, screaming, _"N' she said, 'Hoot, I cannae get back tae my hoose in bonny __**Scotland**__!- Girl! With the hazel eyes! AAA-aaa-AAA-aaa-Ah! Girl! With the hazel eyes! AAA-aaa-AAA-aaa-Ah!"_ **(2)**

Arthur gave Alfred a good scowl before snatching up the phone, "Hullo, Kirkland speaking… Well enough, thank you…Yes, quite right... Brilliant. We'll be arriving later on today, then. Thank you very much. Goodbye." He clicked the phone shut.

"…What in the _hell_ is up with that ringtone?"

"Shut it! Anyway, that was the call we were waiting on. Go and pack the things you need to get you through until tomorrow and we'll be on our way."

~*~

**

* * *

(1)** "_Nautical Acquisition and Redistribution Specialist_"- Let's break this down for any of those who may not have understood it. Nautical: Of or relating to seamen or ships. Acquisition: The act of acquiring. Redistribution: To relocate, to spread to other areas. Specialist: One who specializes in something. So, "_One who specializes in acquiring and relocating things of or related to ships_". Yes, this is another pirate reference.

**(2)** This is Iggy's ringtone because I'm listening to the song and I decided. This is part of the song 'Hazel Eyes' by The Darkness (which is an award-winning hard rock band hailing from Lowestoft, England).

* * *

~*~

Alfred, once again, was in something of a state of awe.

The first two and a half hours of their little road trip had been utter hell; The two occupants of the vehicle had screamed at each other, had argued over the radio, had very nearly caused a car accident when they attempted to get into a fist-fight while Arthur was driving, were subsequently pulled over by the cops, somehow managed to weasel their way out of actually getting into trouble by flashing their government ID's and making up a quick lie having something to do with a thermos containing a new species of potentially deadly spider rolling under the steering column and causing a slight panic within the confines of the car, and then had studiously ignored each other completely until they pulled over to get lunch.

Said lunch, however, had actually gone over spectacularly. By chance they landed themselves in a very good, small, family-run restaurant with phenomenal food and service, and had gotten through the meal without lunging for each other's throats, which left them both in a much more companionable mood. By the time they got back into the car, they were conversing pleasantly and poking friendly fun at each other. When they hit the highway again, Alfred had dug a handful of CD's out of Arthur's glove compartment to discover several albums that he rather liked himself, and after getting through one or two with them, Alfred totally relinquished control of the stereo to the Brit, who then proceeded to play some CD's that Alfred wasn't especially familiar with, but found himself enjoying.

And with all of their actually-getting-along, Arthur had loosened up quite a bit.

"Tell me, do you think it'd be alright, if I could just crash here tonight? You can see I'm in no shape for drivin', and anyway I've got no place to go! And y'know it might not be that bad; You were the best I've ever had~ If I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago, I might not be alone! Tomorrow we can drive around this town, and let the cops chase us around! Past is gone but something might be found to take its place! Hey, jealousy~"

-The green-eyed male had been crooning along loudly with every song on this album, drumming on the steering wheel in time with the music, smiling broadly.

"You can trust me not to think~ And not to sleep around~ And if you don't expect too much from me, you might not be let down! 'Cus all I really want's to be with you, feeling like I matter too! If I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago, I might be here with you!" **(1)**

-…And he actually had a pretty damn decent singing voice.

Maybe they ought to take small road-trips together more often.

Soon, they got off the highway and found themselves in the town of Ruthin, where Arthur turned the music down very low in order to better concentrate on his surroundings.

The town was lovely. The buildings all had a cozy, historic sort of design to them, with timber-framed townhouses and solid brick buildings. The land around it was all rolling hills, and everything was lighted nicely with the mid-afternoon sunshine. Alfred didn't see why Arthur hadn't just suggested the place, instead of bargaining to get them there; He wouldn't have complained. It seemed like awfully nice place to spend the night, even if he wasn't quite sure why they were there.

"So, Art, what'd we come here for? Not that I'm complaining, but it seems like a long ways to go just to hang out in a neat town, especially if it's only for the night."

"You'll see, Alfred."

"Why are we only staying for the night, then?"

"I shouldn't think you'll want to stay longer than that."

"Why not?"

"_You'll see."_

Alfred heaved a long-suffering sigh, "_Fiiiine_.."

Eventually they reached the center of the town, wherein they were met at the end of a road by an outer wall the likes of which one would see bordering castle grounds in movies about the middle-ages. There was an open archway, above which, in gold lettering, was the label "Castell Rhuthun". They eased the car through to be met with a long driveway, with white streetlamps (currently unlit) dotting along either side, cutting through the expansive lawn with groups of trees gathered throughout and patches or garden flowers.

And sure enough, as could be easily seen from the driveway, there was, in fact, a castle.

It wasn't an especially tall castle; It was only maybe five stories at the highest parts, but it was expansive, compiled of red bricks and white stone, with small towers, and windows placed periodically throughout the walls. The height wasn't uniform, and the top reached various levels, the tallest part being the red brick section in the front and easing outwards to the smaller parts of the structures on the edges. It may not have been horribly impressive as far as castles go (then again, it may have; most of the more grand castles there have been are now in ruins), but for someone like Alfred, who'd never seen a castle in person, it was certainly a sight.

"Holy shit! Arthur! You brought me to a fucking _castle_?!"

"Yes, I have."

Alfred, eyes all a-glitter, flung his arms around the driver heedless of the potential damage that could be caused by such an action, squeezing tightly, "Mary, Mother of God, this has got to be about the coolest thing _ever_! Seriously, this is awesome! You're the best, Artie!"

"Hardly," Arthur scoffed, shoving the younger nation off of him, though it was clear by his triumphant smile that he expected this sort of reaction, "There are a lot of castles at my place. Not all of them are running and open for guests to stay at like this one, though. And it's really quite cozy inside; It isn't made up to be _too_ extravagant in most of the rooms."

"But it's a castle! Oh, jeez, this is gunna be _so awesome_!"

"Yes, yes. Now settle down and _listen_. You absolutely _have_ to be on your utmost best behavior here, understand? If you disturb any other guests, or if they think you're going to do any damage to anything, they'll boot us clear out. I had to pull a lot of strings to get us here on such short notice, so you'd damn well better behave. Savvy?"

"Yeah, of course!", Alfred said absently, his face nearly pressed to the windshield.

"Really? Then what did I just say?"

"Uh.."

"Alfred!"

"Chill, Arty, I was only playin'. 'Be good', I got it. I swear, I won't cause any problems!" He gave his best sunny smile and a quick thumbs-up before returning his attention out the window.

They finally reached the end of the driveway and pulled into the parking area. Arthur shut the car off und unlocked the doors, then the duo grabbed their light luggage and locked the vehicle up. Arthur lead them up a small section of sidewalk, between two large stone lions, and then up the red-carpeted stairs that ran under the ivy-covered archway housing the front double-doors.

They entered doors of the castle-turned-hotel and emerged into the main lobby. It was relatively modest, with wood-paneling half way up the walls, and the space above it was decorated with nicely-spaced deer heads mounted near the high ceiling. There were two antique-looking couches facing one another in the center of the room on a lush, intricate rug, with a table holding a basket of flowers between them and a crystal chandelier hanging above. One wall was lined with a long wood table decorated with knick-knacks and lamps, the other with two plush chairs and a small end table between them. Directly across from the doors was a half-hexagonal dark wood desk behind which was stationed a smart-looking woman.

"Hello," The woman said, looking a bit suspicious of the casual-and-young-looking men "Welcome to Ruthin Castle Hotel. I'm Alis. How may I help you gentlemen today?"

"Hullo, Alis. We need to check in," Arthur told her.

"…Check in?" She quirked an eyebrow at them; it wasn't exactly usual for her to receive guest so casual and young-looking, unless they were part of a larger group, "Who are the reservations under?"

"Captain Kirk!" Alfred said 'helpfully', which was responded to with a lovely elbow to the ribs, courtesy of Arthur.

"Party name of 'Kirkland', miss." Arthur corrected.

"Oh! Yes, Mister Kirkland." Alis looked a surprised, then shuffled under the desk for a moment before producing a large leather-bound book and bulky pen of the custom-made variety, "You know, if I may say, we've had quite a lot of fuss over you today, calling just this morning like you did, and only to be here for the night. Not to worry though, sir, we've your accommodations prepared for you." She opened the book and leafed through it, before flipping it around and setting it on the desktop, "Just sign in here, please." She instructed before moving to where the room keys were kept.

"Jeez, Arthur. You'd think you knew the owner or something, the way she snapped up like that." Alfred commented, whispering to his companion.

"That's because I do." Arthur replied as he signed into the log book.

"You know the owner?!" Alfred had to gawk- just a little. Really, Arthur needed to stop throwing him balls out of the left field!

"I like to keep up with my- _the nation's_ more historic buildings."

"Here's your key, Mister Kirkland." Alis returned, key in hand, "If there's anything we can do for you, please do let us know. Will you need help with your luggage, or to locate your room?"

"No, I'm quite sure we can manage. Thank you, Alis." Arthur removed the key from her possession, grabbed his suitcase, and headed down the hallway to the left of the front desk, Alfred immediately following suit.

"Dude, do you seriously know the owner?"

"I said I did, didn't I?"

"Since when do you have friends? You know, that aren't imaginary."

"_They are not imaginary_! And I have plenty of friends, thank you."

Arthur led them down the long hallway, the walls adorned with paintings and portraits, then up several two grand flights of stairs, into a long corridor lined with several doors, down to the one furthest back at the end of the hall. He shoved his suitcase into Alfred's arms and fiddled with the key in the lock momentarily before easing the door open and stepping inside. Alfred followed in, carrying their luggage, and set both suitcases near the wall to close the door behind him.

Arthur'd been right; The room was very nice, but not so lavish that it might be intimidating. It was larger than most hotel rooms, but small enough to be cozy. The walls were covered in tasteful sepia floral-print wallpaper, and the carpet was a lush deep red. There were two medium-sized windows directly across from the door, curtained with thick drapes matching the carpet that were tied back with gold tussled cords, and a small chandelier hung from the middle of the Victorian-esque ceiling.

There were two beds set perpendicular to the right wall, decked out in plush pillows and blankets all in warm colors, with a small wooden table between them holding a small bulbous lamp and a telephone. Between the windows sat a medium-sized mahogany table, with a comfortable-looking velvet arm chair on either side of it. Opposite the beds on the left of the room was a low wood dresser, carved intricately, above which was mounted a plasma-screen television, and in the corner nearest the back wall there was an alcove that held a counter equipped with the necessary items with which to make tea and coffee, as well as a door that presumably led to the in-suite bathroom. On the other side of the dresser was a small bookshelf filled with leather-bound tomes of all sizes. There were a handful of paintings hanging on the walls in carved wooden frames, and all of the colors within the room seemed to both tie together and complement one another without being overbearing. Several pieces of the furniture had to be antique.

While Alfred made his observations, Arthur strut across the room and threw the windows open, one and then the other, taking in a deep breath of the fresh spring air and letting it out slowly with a content smile. "I absolutely love this place." He commented absently, then turned and beckoned Alfred over, "Come here and see."

Alfred obeyed and crossed the room, leaning in towards the window Arthur was stationed by.

"Oh, wow.."

From their position, they could see the expansive front lawn of the estate, with its spattering of early-blooming flowers and trees, and a very large section of the surrounding town, all a-bustle with people going about their day. It was even possible to see the distant hills and surrounding countryside in all of its green, late-April glory. The sky above was wide and clear, save a sparse scattering of cushy cumulus clouds, allowing the sun to illuminate the entire view brilliantly, and there were flocks of birds traveling across the troposphere at a studious pace. The air was saturated thickly with the smell of foliage and fresh-cut grass, and the quiet sounds of lives being lead at a distance. It was just…

"Beautiful." Arthur articulated both of their thoughts, gazing out over the land with all of the contentment and pride of a king observing his smooth-running kingdom, a glittering in his eyes and his lips pulled into an absent smile.**(2)**

"Yeah… It is." **(3)** Alfred agreed, smiling lopsidedly himself.

They stayed that way for nearly five full minutes, leaning together on the window frame and enjoying a very rare companionable silence while watching the outside world, until Arthur whirled away from the window, breaking the spell.

"Well," He said, moving back towards the center of the room, "Let's get settled, and then get a move on."

"Get a move on?"

"Well, yes. You didn't think we'd sit in the room for the rest of the day, did you?"

"Sweet! Where we goin'?"

"I've gotten us permission to explore around the grounds. There're a lot of interesting things to see; They've left most of the original estate intact. We've only a couple hours though. We have dinner reservations at the castle's dining hall. We can go 'round a bit more afterwards, though."

"Awesome! I'll just take a quick shower, then, if that's cool?"

"By all means," Arthur waved him off, grabbed a book at random from the bookcase, and plopped down on the bed.

Alfred pranced into the bathroom, saying to himself in a sing-song voice, "I'm in a castle~ A castle with Artie~ Gunna go exploring~"

Arthur waited until he heard the water running before setting the book down on the bed. He waited a moment, then swiftly and quietly slipped out of the room.

He had some arrangements to make with some of the hotel's _permanent residents_.

~*~

**

* * *

(1)** Hey Jealousy, a Punk Goes* cover song by Hit The Lights. I tossed this in there because one, I like the song, and two, I've been wanting really hard to make one of those USxUK slideshow things with this song forever, but I haven't gotten around to it yet. I think it's really applicable. =] Also, I just felt like having Arthur singing in the car.

**(2)** Because of the issued flag Iggy's given for the series, he's the representative for the entire UK, even though there are different countries within the UK and the implication that there are personifications for at least a couple of them, whether they've officially appeared of not (EG, Iggy's older brothers). So, even though Iggy's mostly meant to be England, the whole lot of the UK is still technically his domain.

**(3)** I'll let y'all decide which view Alfred's referring to. ;]

* * *

~*~

By the time Alfred had showered, dried his hair, got dressed, and finally emerged from the bathroom, Arthur was stationed on the bed just where Alfred had left him.

They wandered through the actual castle a bit first, checking out the different public rooms and bickering ("Alfred, don't _touch_ that!" "Oh, c'mon, I wasn't hurting anything!" "I'm going to hurt _you_ if you don't keep your hands to yourself!"). The rooms were all filled with art and interesting brik-a-brak, so there was quite a lot to see without even setting foot outside. Afterwards they went to see the drowning and whipping pits (which Alfred found to be pretty morbid, but neat anyway), had tea and coffee in the Conrwallis Lounge **(1)**, then spent the rest of their time before dinner in the garden. Alfred noted with great interest that the castle grounds seemed to have a mild infestation of male peacocks, running about unrestricted and adding a nice regal touch everywhere they went.

Their reservation was at seven-thirty, and they supped in Bertie's Dining Room, the castle's restaurant, which had windows overlooking the lawn and the garden terrace, several chandeliers hanging from the dark ceiling, and deep red walls. The tables were of a small size, with white table clothes and vases of flowers, and in one corner was a baby grand piano. Dinner went relatively smoothly, without either of the nations feeling the need to lung at each other over the table or otherwise cause a large scene, although they did argue quite a lot about food (not the restaurant's food, which was delicious, but the argument HAD started when Alfred attempted to order cheeseburgers and fries. Moreso they fought about Alfred's overall horrible diet and Arthur's atrocious cooking monstrosities). They finished their meal approximately an hour after it began, and returned to their room, much to Alfred's displeasure.

"I thought you said we were gunna look around more after dinner?"

"Stop whining, America. We're going back out, we just need to get a couple things first." Arthur told him as he began rummaging through his suitcase, "Now where in the hell…" He trailed off.

Alfred grinned. "You know, you really are the king of losing things."

"I'll have you know that most of the things I 'misplace' are simply moved by the fae, thank you very much. You know how they have that fascination with things that shine." He waved a hand dismissively, throwing a thick black hoodie out of the suitcase and onto the bed before resuming his search.

"Ah, No, I _don't_ know, Actually."

"Well you would if you weren't so bleeding- Ah! There you are!" Arthur produced a compact digital video camera, a heavy, metal flashlight, and a hand-held tape recorder, along with a small black carrying case that contained extra batteries, tapes, and memory cards.

"What's that stuff for?" Alfred quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh, I thought we might go on a little excursion." The _'I know something you don't'_ smile was back.

"Where to? "

"A few select places on the grounds."

"And we need those things because..?"

"Because we're going ghost hunting, my dear boy."

Alfred visibly paled. "Ah.. G-ghost hunting? There are ghosts here?"

"Oh, quite a few, actually." He smiled knowingly as he shrugged on his hoodie.

"…Quite a few, huh..? Ahaha.. Well, um, why would you want to go lookin' for them? Can't you talk to them or something anyway, like the one you said you seen over at Kiku's place?"

"Yes, I can. But _you_," Arthur slapped the video camera into Alfred's hands, "Seem to have a problem believing in anything otherworldly unless you've seen it on the telly. I feel it's my duty as your former caretaker to enlighten you where I can, and seeing as how you're more accepting of the possibility of ghosts, I thought it would be a good place to start."

"I don't know, Arthur. Isn't this sort of thing, uh, dangerous? I mean, of course I'm not worried about _my_ safety or anything! I just, er… Wouldn't want _you_ to get hurt! S-so, shouldn't we leave this kind of thing to the professionals…?"

"Don't fret, Love. **(2)**" Arthur grinned widely in that creepy ex-empire way, "I _am_ a professional."

"I just don't think it's a great idea.."

"What's the matter, America?" Arthur gave his best innocent face, "I thought you were supposed to be the 'Home of the Brave'. And what of all that Hero business, hm?"

"Hey, now! I'm plenty-"

"And even if it _weren't_ for that," He inspected his nails nonchalantly, "It wouldn't matter much, would it? Even if you are an absolute _'pussy'_- As you would say **(3)**- We've agreed that we'll being doing whatever I damn well like until tomorrow morning. Bob's your uncle.**(4) **We're going ghost hunting, whether you like it or not."

"…You're a horrible, horrible person, did you know that? And what's this about an uncle?"

"Never mind. Let's get on with it, shall we?"

And with that, Arthur breezed out the door, Alfred very reluctantly following after him.

~*~

* * *

I didn't really need a change-scene here, but with four annotations ready to go I figured I ought to.

**(1)** Cornwallis Lounge is a room in the Ruthin Castle Hotel. I didn't suppose this really needed to be pointed out, but I thought I would anyway, just to be clear.

**(2) **This isn't really meant as any kind of term of endearment. It's a pretty common pet-name sort of thing over across the pond. Like how us Yanks call people we know 'hun', or 'babe' (though I personally don't have to even know you to tack on a pet-name like that when I'm talking to you).

**(3)** Over in Brit-land, pussy is short for pussy-cat. So far as I know, it's neither used for girl-bits nor cowards there.

**(4)** "There you have it", is what that means. Doesn't have anything to do with relatives.

That's a lot of annotations for such a little section of story. Damn.

* * *

~*~

As it turned out, the castle had _dungeons_, and that was the first stop for Arthur's paranormal expedition.

Alfred supposed he ought not have been surprised, since he'd seen the whipping and drowning pits that afternoon.

He stuck close behind Arthur, letting him lead the way. He'd been put in charge of the camera, and had it rolling in the night-vision mode, facing the corridor in front of them. He had to peek behind himself every so often- Just to be sure

True to dungeon standards, the walls were made of carve stone, the floor of packed dirt, and there was a musky, cellar-like odor to the stagnant air. Holders with torches could be found affixed mid-way up the walls, but none were lit, and the only light in the underground maze came from the flashlight Arthur wielded. There were bulky wooden doors accentuated by wrought-iron every so many feet to mark and block the cells, and though they would peek into one occasionally, they had yet to venture into any of them; Apparently, Arthur's main goal was the torture chamber, wherever the hell that was.

Much to Alfred's chagrin, Arthur strode foreword confidently, utterly unperturbed by his surroundings and pausing only to consult a map he procured from the front desk of the hotel if he needed to confirm the direction they were headed.

"Arthur? Have you been down here before?" Alfred asked, his voice a near whisper. The atmosphere was heavy, even for someone like him, and it seemed to demand quiet in the same way a house with sleeping occupants might; One loud noise, and you've woken someone- Or something- up.

"Yes." Arthur responded in the same hushed tone, "Everything down here is really quite harmless, Alfred, you needn't be so weary."

"If there's anything down here at all, there's plenty reason to be weary!"

"Oh, do shut up, you big baby. You have nothing to worry about just now."

They went along for fifteen-some-odd minutes, turning one way and then the other, until they found themselves in a long hall even narrower than the others with an imposing set of hulking double doors at the far end. Arthur made a small huff of satisfaction and strutted brusquely towards them, pulling loose the wooden plank that held them secured closed from its place when he reached them, then, with a small grunt of effort, hauled one of the doors open.

"Here we are." He announced, shining the light inwards, "Go on in."

"…You wouldn't lock me in there when I wasn't looking, would you?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Or course not. With your utterly absurd strength, you'd be able to get out even if I did."

The American hesitantly stepped in, Arthur right on his heels. Arthur fanned the light across the room slowly, revealing to be quite large; Much bigger than the cells they'd taken looks in, and appeared to have been made into a sort of miniature torture-device museum. There were shackles, rusting and long unused hammered into the walls near the ground, an Iron Maiden, open for display, propped up in one corner, a Rack directly across from it.

They ventured in further to see shelves and cases full of brutal objects. Cats Paws and Brodequins, A Scavenger's Daughter, Thumbscrews, Branding Irons, Breast Rippers, Pears, Headcrushers, Heretic's Forks… There were more instruments on display than Alfred would have been able to name, each more unsettling than the last. He went over them all with the camera, cringing slightly.

"God, people really used to use all these things..?" He asked almost doubtfully.

"They were implemented all throughout Europe, at one time. Dreadful period of history. More than one of these things were invented in England. That's not why we're here, though. Come here."

Alfred contemplated how lucky he was to be young, giving the bizarre displays another once-over before following Arthur to a far corner of the room, where he was told to take a seat. They both sank to the floor and leaned against the wall behind them.

"Talk to them." Arthur instructed after a moment.

"Talk to them? I don't see any ghosts, England."

"Of course not- Yet. Request an audience."

"How do I request an audience with things that are dead?"

"Any way you'd like to, prat. Surprisingly enough, the ones down here don't have the prowess to do much of anything at all, so it's not especially important that you follow any particular guidelines when addressing them. Just try to be polite." Arthur hit the recording button on the tape player, for good measure.

Alfred took a moment to reflect on his movie and television references, "Um, if there's…Anyone here, it'd be awesome if you'd y'know, come out and visit with us for a sec? Please?"

Alfred watched what he could see of the dark room, waiting for something to start crawling menacingly from the ceiling or materialize from the floor, but nothing happened. He waited, and was about to ask if he ought to try again, when Arthur tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He glanced over to find Arthur watching the camera intently, and redirected his attention to the recording device he had nearly forgotten he was holding.

He gasped, but it wasn't out of fear; Just surprise.

There were several baseball-sized balls of light flicking around on the camera's LCD screen. They flitted back in forth, around in small circles, nearer to them and then father away. They weren't horrifying like he expected; They didn't look like anything at all like he expected, and were almost- dare he think it- pretty. But they were undoubtedly there, plainly visible on the camera. Alfred glanced up from the screen on reflex, but found when he looked at the actual room, there was nothing to be seen, and went back to watching the recording instrument in his hands.

"See, now? That's not so awful, is it?" Arthur asked, placing a hand on Alfred's shoulder and leaning in to see the camera better. "Say hello."

Slowly, the American relaxed a bit. Those little things really didn't look like anything to be afraid of. "Ah, hey there, little guys. How're you?"

Of course, they didn't respond- At least, not that Alfred could hear.

"Ask a few more questions. Wait in between them, so they have time to answer."

"But, they aren't saying anything."

"Just _do it_."

"Fine, fine. Okay, uh… Do any of you have names?" He paused for twenty seconds, "How come you're here?" Again, he paused, "Is there anything important you'd like to say?"

They sat there for a small period of time, both of them asking general and fairly simple questions of the spirits and observing them on the video screen (Well, Alfred watched the video; Arthur had transitioned to watching the actual room and seemed to be perfectly capable of following the luminescent globes without the aid of a 'middle-man'). The American had long since lost nearly all of his fear, at least where these particular spirits were concerned. He didn't even flinch when the camera showed them getting nearer to them, and tried to follow the spheres of light around the room to get better video of them. At one point, at Alfred's request, Arthur asked permission and the bespectacled boy was able to capture on film the shorter male actually reaching out and delicately touching one of the glowing forms (which he described to have been an extremely cold, tingling kind of sensation).

Sometime after they'd run out of questions to ask and had contented themselves to simply hang around and watch their otherworldly company, Arthur stiffened minutely, seemed to listen intently for a moment, and then stood from his place on the floor abruptly, startling his other living companion.

"A-ah, is that so?" He asked as he dusted the seat of his pants automatically, "I suppose we'd better, then. Thank you very much for sharing your time with us tonight, it was splendid to speak with you." He gave a sharp tug to a very perplexed Alfred's jacket sleeve, "Say goodnight to our hosts, America."

"Er, Bye?" He got to his feet a little more slowly than Arthur apparently would have liked, and was yanked at again impatiently.

"Smashing. We'll be off straight away, then. Goodbye."

Arthur grabbed the taller boy by the arm and nearly dragged him out of the room, shutting and re-bracing the door behind them, then turning down the hallway back the way they'd initially came in.

"England? What's goin' on?" Alfred kept up easily with his somewhat longer legs, his arm still subjected to Arthur's grip and his nerves catching again, "Arthur?"

"It seems that I've been slightly misinformed, and it's probable that it would be in our best interest to remove ourselves from this area post-haste."

"Oh- Oh god, Arthur, is there something down here other than those shiny guys?!"

"Alfred, I've said before that we're safe here, and we are. There's no need to panic at all, so keep your head about you. It'll just be less trouble for us in the long run if we leave."

"You could hear those things talking, right?"

"Of course."

"And- Did they tell you whatever's making us leave, or what?"

"They warned me."

"_W-warned_? If we're so safe, what is there to warn us of?"

"They said that something is headed our way from deeper in the dungeons and advised that we should leave, on account of the fact that it's looking for us."

"Looking for us?!"

"Just _calm down_. And be quiet! Think tactics; Do you want to give away our position?"

Alfred clamped his mouth shut and shook his head; Whatever it was that was hanging around in a castle's dungeons looking for them, he did _not_ want to meet it.

"Good. Now listen: It's more than likely just hotel staff that's been placed down here to prevent guests from snooping around on their own, alright? There's no reason for you to get worked up."

"If it's just staff, can't we just tell them that we've got special permission to be here?"

"Well… Er, we don't."

"Arthur!-"

"Shhh!"

Alfred lowered his voice, "I thought you said we were allowed to wander around?!"

"We are. Just, not down here. Liabilities. Because there's a chance we could, say, trip on the uneven ground and be injured, even someone with good connections isn't meant to be down here without a guide."

"And you told _me_ to be on my best behavior. Hypocrite."

"Belt up!"

They managed through the underground without any problems, aside from a nagging feeling of being watched, and emerged into fresh air again in just over half the time it had taken them to work their way down. It had long since become nighttime, but the sky was as clear now as it had been during the day, and there was a nearly-full moon with a grand fleet of stars out that set everything aglow, and Arthur deemed fit to shut off the flashlight to save battery power. Alfred, seeing no reason to keep rolling at that particular moment, did the same with the camera.

They stayed in place for a few moments, Alfred a little overwhelmed and Arthur simply assessing information, until Arthur turned and began trekking back to the main castle. Alfred, having little choice in the matter due to his unfamiliarity with the grounds, went along with him.

"Where we goin' now? Back to the room? It's not really that late yet."

"No, not back to the room. Since you didn't have a heart attack in the dungeons, I thought we'd step it up a tad."

"…You mean those little light things weren't what we were looking for?"

"Hardly. Well- Yes, hey _were_ spirits, of course, but somewhat lesser ones. I just wanted to be sure you could handle yourself at least partially, and you did perfectly well enough, so we'll move on to bigger game."

"…How much bigger?" Alfred asked warily. He could handle pretty things that looked like lightshows, but…

"The most well-known spirit on the premises. She's referred to as Lady Grey."

"Lady Grey?" He asked skeptically, conjuring up a mental image of one of those horrific Asian-style ghosts with the pale dead skin and the scraggly, long black hair that are infamous for their twitchy body movements and crawling out of various bodies of water.

"It's a sad story, really." They arrived at and entered the main castle and continued along on the ground floor, "The poor dear. To save most of the legitimate history that you probably aren't interested in hearing, the Lady was the wife of the second-in-command when, appointed by Edward The First, the castle was occupied by Reginald de Grey. The Lady discovered that her husband was having an affair with a local girl, and took it upon herself to do the mistress in with an axe."

"W-what?!"

"Mmhm. Of course, she was tried and convicted for murder, and was sentenced to death herself. They had her buried in the castle gardens, because the church refused to have her put in consecrated grounds **(1)**. You can actually still see the place where she was buried; I should have shown it to you earlier this afternoon. It's sometimes theorized that the husband had actually planned for the whole thing to happen in order to get rid of his wife."

"Now hold on a second! You're telling me that we're going to go try to chat up the ghost of a murderer?!"

"Tsk. Well, she was very nearly justified, I think. Went a bit overboard with the axing that girl to death, surely; A solid pummeling would have done nicely. But, execution was obviously still all the rage at the time."

"England. I think there's a strong possibility that you're totally out of your freakin' mind if you think I want to go hang out with a dead chick who lobbed someone into bite-sized pieces!"

Arthur stopped in the hallway and sighed impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did _you_ sleep with her husband?"

"Did I- _Did I sleep with her husband_?! What the hell kind of question is that?"

"Well, did you? And for Christ's sakes, keep your voice down."

"I _didn't_-" Alfred paused mid-yell, readjusting his volume to a harsh whisper, "No I did not sleep with her husband! Was I even _around_ yet when this shit happened?"

"If you didn't sleep with her husband, then I don't see what you have to fuss about. Come along." He resumed marching towards his selected destination.

Although Alfred would have liked to argue the point, he couldn't come up with an appropriate come-back. He resorted to stomping his foot once before trudging after the older nation, highly agitated and a little distressed. "Arthur fucking Kirkland, I swear on all that is good and justice-y that if I get killed because you want to show me some dead, crazy, disgruntled housewife, I'm gunna nuke all the tea companies _in the world_."

"If you get killed, you'll be _dead_ and won't be able to nuke so much as a blade of grass. Think for a second before opening your big, asinine mouth."

"I'm gunna think before I kick your ass!"

"_Brilliant_ come-back. Are you always so violent when you're **scared**? And anyway, when's the last time you managed to kick my ass, hm?"

Alfred very nearly informed him that, in fact, he kicked his ass pretty hard during the _Revolutionary War_, but caught himself last second and thought better of it. Arthur took one look at him and seemed to understand what had very nearly transpired, and they descended into an awkward silence that held for a good two minutes.

"…Anyway," Alfred mumbled eventually, "I'm just saying: If the dead chick goes batshit and decides to open a can of poltergeist whoop-ass on us, it's totally our fault."

"Yes, okay, _fine_, but I assure you that we'll be perfectly alright. Unless you have a heart attack or something, which will have been a long time coming anyway with all the fast food you eat."

"You'd better be right."

"I am."

"Fine."

"Fine."

They were quiet the rest of the way to their destination, which turned out to be the banquet hall. Arthur stopped them outside the doors and handed Alfred the little black bag that he'd brought along with them.

"Here. Before we go in, change the memory card and batteries in the camera." He waited while Alfred did as he was told before taking the bag back and continuing, "Now, this room is used for medieval-themed banquets now, but back when the Lady was alive, it was the castle's chapel. I don't know if Lady Grey was especially religious, or if she comes because she's upset over having been denied a burial in consecrated grounds , but for some reason or another, the room is special to her; This is one of the places that people frequently report seeing her. I'm not sure if or when she'll come 'round, but if she does, don't say anything stupid. I don't know how strong she is, and I don't want to have to pick any fights if I don't have to."

Alfred considered making a smug comment about Arthur getting into some kind of brawl with a dead woman reputed for violence to protect his ex-little-brother, but his anxiety was tugging at him. Pretty little lights on a video camera he was fine with; He wasn't quite as sure about a deceased and angry hatchet-wielding wife, and he didn't know what he should be expecting to see, or even if they would see anything at all. So he settled for flipping the camera back on, hitting the 'record' button, and giving Arthur a somewhat shaky smile coupled with a thumbs-up.

Arthur took that as the go-ahead and pushed the door open, the both of them going inside.

The lighting was very dim, with only a few small faux-candle wall lamps to illuminate the large area, but they could see that the hall looked like it could have come straight out of a renaissance fair. The room was long and rectangular, with similarly shaped carved wood tabled placed nearly end-to-end in six rows down the length of the room, and on the far end was a large dark fireplace. The ceilings were high, the walls painted a solid dark-sage green, and mid-way through the room there was a panel of ceiling that came down three or so feet lower than the rest to meet a deep-emerald-painted support beam upon which hung several small, flag-like tapestries. There were similar decorations pinned across both of the longest walls, and a shallow balcony with carved dark-wood guard railings on either of the longer walls near the front of the room. Otherwise, the hall had a somewhat bare look to it; It was the sort of place that looked strangely empty unless it was filled to the brim with people, and at this time of night, there was no one other than the two nations to occupy it.

As they walked across the worn hardwood floor towards the fireplace, the sound of their steps bounced and reverberated off the walls, sounding intrusive and almost deafening in the dead silence. They seated themselves at a table near a front corner of the room for a good vantage point, settling next to each other on the same side against the wall.

"Should I ask for this one to come and have a chat too?" Alfred murmured, trying not to disturb the soundless hall too much with his voice, as he swept the camera over the room once.

"No," Arthur declined just as quietly, "I don't think we ought to speak to her at all. We don't know how volatile she might be, nor if she would be able to inflict any damage on us if she were so inclined; It's best not to chance offending her."

"_We don't know if she can hurt us_?" Alfred very nearly hissed.

"No, not really. She's never tried to cause injury before though, so far as I know, and a fair number of people have seen her. I'm very confident that we'll be perfectly fine so long as we do nothing to provoke her."

"…I hate you so much right now."

They sat for close to half an hour at that table, without anything of even remote interest happening. Eventually Alfred got too bored to tolerate doing nothing any longer, set the camera on the table, produced a set of cards from god-knows-where, and engaged Arthur in a game of War. **(2) **Alfred conquered the first two rounds, Arthur the third, and part way through the fourth the Brit paused to survey the room intently.

"What's up, Artie?"

"Stop calling me that. Tell me, do you suppose it just got colder in here?"

Alfred considered it for a moment. "Yeah, I think so. I don't figure these old castles are very well insulated. Why?"

"Do you not pay attention to any of those paranormal shows you watch? Cold Spots can often indicate spirit activity."

They both set down their hands of cards and Alfred grabbed the camera, training it on the room again. Several minutes went by without any other change occurring, and they both silent as they watched looked about the hall, looking for anything out of place.

They waited.

Then, all of the warmth seemed to be leeched out of the air at once and the temperature plummeted to what had to be very near the line of freezing; They could see their breaths coming out in small puffs, and unconsciously they moved nearer each other for body heat. Alfred's trepidation was back nearly full force as their eyes searched around them attentively.

"There!" Arthur whispered harshly as he pointed to the doors at the other end of the room.

Alfred, a bit falteringly, directed his gaze and the camera to follow Arthur's finger.

And to his immediate horror, he could actually _see_ what his elder was referring to.

At first it just seemed like something was displaced. Looking carefully, though, the air actually appeared distorted near the doorway, like looking through a pane of glass made from before the technique was perfected; It was still transparent, but everything behind the area was slightly bulbous and wavy, similar to a very mild fun-house mirror.

But then, right before their eyes, the air started to condense and become cloudy, building itself into a vague humanoid shape. As the seconds whipped by, the form became more defined. It gradually took on details: An obvious female form, limbs and hair and clothing.

A face.

After meager minute or so that seemed to stretch out into an eternity, a somewhat opalescent woman had literally manifested herself from nothing.

The Lady held herself tell and straight, shoulders back, face drawn tensely, her long fingers entwined together in front of her small midriff. Her skin was stark pale, making her dark hair and eyes pop almost harshly in contrast, and her features were sharp and firm. She was wearing a long, intricate, and bejeweled gown that dragged on the floor, with a high ruffled collar and sleeves that puffed out largely at the shoulders but fit snugly over her forearms, obviously over top of a corset. Perched atop her woven and pinned hair was an oddly shaped hat, complete with plumed feathers and sewn-in pearls, held firmly in place. Every stitch of clothing on her was a shade of grey.

Alfred was so horrified that, much as he would have liked to, he couldn't even will himself to scream.

When the woman slowly but purposefully began to walk- nearly slide- across the floor towards the front of the room, Alfred's trembling fingers very nearly dropped the camera. Arthur extracted it from his grasp and trained it onto the moving form, following her as she made her way nearer and nearer the fireplace. As soon as his hands were free, Alfred latched himself tightly to his companion's arm and watched in absolute terror as the spirit approached their end of the hall, his heart thundering behind his ribcage.

Lady Grey didn't even appear to notice them, however- Or if she did, didn't seem to care- and didn't so much as spare a glance at them while she moved along. When she reached a point directly in front of the fireplace that was only some fifteen feet away from the nations, she halted, and appeared deep in thought. After a moment, she Crossed herself, and then kneeled on the floor in prayer.

All of the occupants of the room, living or otherwise, were utterly still for several minutes; Time seemed to have come to a total standstill in the silent room. Then, the Lady stood slowly from her position on the floor, crossed herself again, re-folded her hands, and let her gaze drift upwards towards the ceiling in thought. Her lips began moving in silent speech, and after a moment, she started pacing slowly to and fro, apparently having some sort or argument or debate with herself. She went through these motions going on ten minutes before she stopped, buried her face in her hands, curled slightly in on herself, and proceeded to sob soundlessly.

Normally, this would have triggered one of the other nation into action (Alfred due to his heroic values, and Arthur because he fancied himself a gentleman), but neither moved a muscle to go to the pitiable thing's aid. One was curious and focused on the situation at hand, while the other stared on with an expression akin to a deer caught in the headlights of a sixteen-wheeled semi carrying a shipment of venison.

Eventually she seemed to pull herself together, straightening and then drying her eyes on a sleeve of her dress. She took a moment to compose herself. Then, slowly, she turned…

And began walking back down the center of the room towards the doors, in the same manner in which she'd come.

When she breached the half-way point of the room, Alfred let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

-The sound of which made Lady Grey whip around to look at the pair dead-on.

Alfred's vocal cords managed to find themselves with that look, and he screeched loud enough to wake anyone within a two mile radius from a dead sleep- Which he undoubtedly would have, if Arthur hadn't anticipated the reaction in that split second before Alfred's throat opened up and slapped his free hand over the American's maw to muffle the noise.

They all froze in place while the spirit regarded the pair that had infringed upon her privacy- She looked nearly as startled as Alfred at discovering her spectators. Slowly, the shock faded into an expression of ire, which was almost immediately replaced by curiosity. She cocked her head slightly to the side and began to make her way towards them at an even pace.

Alfred was nearly beside himself with panic and started scrambling to try and flee, but Arthur held him firmly, one hand still clapped over his mouth, and lead him to stand from their table, then backwards the few number of steps it took to have their backs against the wall (because something solid behind them meant one less direction to need to pay attention to).

"Al, listen to me." Arthur muttered firmly near the terrified male's ear, without letting his eyes leave the approaching ghost, "Take a deep breath, and calm the _fuck_ down. Everything will be fine if you pay attention. Don't make any sudden movements, don't try to run, and for fuck's sake, do NOT scream again. Understand?" When Alfred failed to provide a response, Arthur gave him one firm shake, "_Do you understand_?"

Alfred nodded weakly, clinging forcefully to his former ruler with his wide eyes set on the ghost that was only a handful of yards away.

"Good. You're alright, America." He assured before removing his hand from Alfred's mouth and standing up a bit straighter.

The Lady stopped when she was approximately two feet away and inspected them, carefully looking over one, followed by the other, and finally, the both of them together. Then, daintily, she held her right hand out to Arthur, palm down, her fingers curled slightly. Hesitating only minutely, the Brit took the almost-solid hand into one of his own, bowed as best he could with Alfred affixed to him so firmly, and delicately brushed his lips on her knuckles.

"Beg pardon, Lady Grey. We hadn't meant to impose."

There was a long pause before the spirit retracted her hand. Gingerly, she traced a finger along one of each boy's cheeks (which made Alfred squeak- a very _heroic_, unafraid squeak, mind you) and smiled gently. She watched them for another brief moment, gave one curt nod, then turned on her heals resumed her original route to the exit. Just before reaching her destination, she threw one more tiny smile over her shoulder, and dispersed in much the same way as she had appeared, her form breaking down and dematerializing into the air.

The remaining bodies in the room stayed put against the wall while the hall not-so-slowly returned to its normal temperature. Shell-shocked, Alfred sunk to the floor with a dull thud, watching the spot where the ghost had last been for a few long moments, then turned looked up to give Arthur a flat stare.

"I am never letting you pick vacation activities again."

Arthur laughed so hard he was very nearly in tears. Shortly, Alfred's humor caught up with him and he, too, broke out into giggles. Arthur collapsed to the floor next to the American, and they clung to each other for support while they howled together- Though, what was so funny, exactly, was a bit beyond them.

~*~

**

* * *

(1)** Consecrated grounds, for those who may not know, is an area set aside by a church (or maybe a temple, I don't know for sure how non-Christian religions work with this in particular) for burial that has been deemed sacred. A church can deny someone the privilege of being buried there for any number of things they find to be in violation of the religion or something like that.

**(2)** I'm pretty sure everyone knows what War is, but just in case, It's a card game that can be played with two or more people, and it requires no strategy whatsoever. I'm not going to get into the rules and whatnot here, because I'm lazy, but if you don't know how it's played you can look it up on Google. It just happened to be the first card game I thought of, since it's one of the very few that I like. The name is APH applicable, so I rolled with it.

* * *

~*~

By the time they recovered from their hysterical fit of laughter, gathered their things (Alfred making sure they didn't forget anything, since Arthur's the King of Losing Things), and clambered out of the banquet hall, it was half-passed midnight.

Alfred, for whatever reason, had snatched Arthur's Nokia N90 and was going through his music as they walked through the castle, the pair having decided to make another visit to the garden to help calm their nerves before they headed upstairs to go to bed. They had just made it to the doors leading outside when Alfred discovered a file with great disbelief, and broke out into a cackle.

"What the hell are you laughing about now?"

"Oh my god, Arthur. What is _this_?"

"What's what?" Arthur made to grab at the phone, but Alfred held it high above his head as he smashed the play button.

"_I go 'ooh-ooh', you go 'ah-ah', lala-lala, ah-lalala! I can't lie, lie, lie, l-lie, lie, I wanna-wanna-wanna get-get-get what I want, don't stop! Give me, give me, give me what you've got, got, 'cus I can't wait, wait, wait anymore more, more, more!_" **(1) **the phone hollered with a jumpy, fast beat.

Arthur looked mortified, and his face flushed scarlet as he redoubled his efforts to retrieve the cell. "I-I…! Er, _Australia_! That stupid wanker, _he_ put that on there!"

"Haha! Yeah, right, when's the last time you even seen him? I bet it was long before you got this nifty phone, huh?" He laughed triumphantly with his knowledge of phone models, "I love this song, though! I~ feel so untouched, right now, and I, want you so much that I, just can't resist you! It's not enough to say that I miss you!" he sang along.

"Alfred Fucking Jones, give me that phone!"

"No way, Artie, you'll turn it off! C'mere, dance with me!" Alfred grabbed the slightly smaller man's waist and tugged him closer, beginning to bounce with the song and forcing Arthur to do the same.

"Absolutely not!" He yelled indignantly, still reaching for the monstrosity spewing the Aussie music.

"No, really! C'mon, if you dance, I'll give it back~" The American promised with his best sing-song voice, "Loosen up!" He dropped the phone on the ground to free up his other hand, seized one of Arthur's, and spun them both around in a little circle, obviously not taking no for an answer.

Arthur squawked indignantly, but found his fighting useless and eventually admitted to himself that attempting to escape was futile. With a mighty sigh he gave up his valiant fight, allowing his counterpart to lead him in a bouncy and somewhat erratic part-swing-part-pop dance in good time with the beat of the music. Alfred relinquished his hold on Arthur when it became apparent that he would meet no more resistance to put more space between them to work with. After several moments of enduring Alfred's awful singing, sometime after being yanked into a twirl, Arthur realized something ridiculous:

…. This was.. actually somewhat enjoyable. He gave a small, breathy laugh and spun away from the younger nation, giving himself more room to pop and shimmy his hips, twisting his arms and hands above his head much in the way of a belly-dancer (He HAD spent a lot of time with India; you pick up a few things), joining the American in singing along with the music.

"I! Feel so untouched and I! Want you so much that I! Just can't resist you; It's not enough to say that I miss you! I! Feel so untouched right now! Need you so much somehow! I, can't forget you; I've gone crazy from the moment I met you!" They near-yelled together, somehow managing to retain enough oxygen in their lungs while twining around each other and spinning to belt out lyrics on top of it.

It was going so well, too, the pair making good use of the garden's lawn, until Alfred yanked the green-eyed male to him and tried, for some strange reason, to execute a dip. Arthur, being caught off guard, overbalanced them and sent them both toppling to the grass in a tangle of limbs with a matching pair of startled yelps.

They stayed motionless in their little pile, shocked to find themselves there, until they were both able to assess the situation and how they got there.

When everything had properly registered, they broke into appreciative laughter and commenced the process of untying themselves from each other, complete with swearing and half-hearted insults between guffaws and gasping for breath. It took them many almost-painful seconds to get themselves straightened out, about a minute to check for possible injuries, and then fifteen more to find Arthur's phone in the grass, which had stopped playing music by then.

"See, Arthur? That wasn't so awful, was it?" Alfred asked cheerfully as they resumed their walk through the garden after making sure they had all their things, "You're not that awful at dancing for such an old guy, y'know?"

Arthur scoffed at him. "You're hardly young yourself."

"A lot younger than you, anyway."

"A lot more stupid, too." He commented, his statement lacking most of its usual ire.

Alfred stuck his tongue out at him childishly, and Arthur offhandedly threatened to bite it off if he didn't put it away. There was about to be a playful squabble of '_Do it, then!_' and '_Don't test me, boy, you know I will', _but they were cut off by the sound of foliage being disturbed.

Trained well to be attentive to their environment from battle, they simultaneously stopped in their tracks, strained their ears for any further noise, and looked about themselves cautiously. The caught the movement of the hedges in the same moment, Arthur shifting subtly into a minutely more defensive position and Alfred merely watching, expecting some sort of small animal to come skittering out into the open.

Well, something came out of the bushes alright, but it was certainly no animal.

As they watched, a figure of moderate height decked out in light-weight armor sprung from the bushes and took of sprinting in their direction wielding a heavy sword.

"_What the fuck_?!" Alfred screamed just before his arm was seized up by Arthur and he was forcibly spun around.

Without a second's hesitation Arthur had them dashing through the garden towards the castle, the metal-covered thing in hot pursuit.

"What in the hell is that?! I thought we were done with your ghost hunting?!" Alfred exclaimed, glancing behind him very quickly before focusing on where they were going.

"We are! I didn't plan this, I don't know what's going on! There's supposed to be some sort of- Soldier, or knight, or something, but I've never seen him. He's supposed to be inside the castle, and benevolent to boot, so-"

"So what the hell do we do?!"

"Keep running and try to lose it, obviously!"

They reached the castle in no time flat, burst inside without losing any more momentum than necessary and continued running. Unfortunately, the man wasn't perturbed, barreling in after them noisily. They made split-second turns down one hallway and then another, rushed through several of the public rooms, doubled back on themselves, and tried everything else they could think of to ditch their stalker, but all in vain; The best they managed was to get an extra few yards of a lead.

"England, we can't keep running forever! We need to do something!" Alfred panted, breathing heavily with their break-neck pace.

"And what do you propose, exactly?!" Arthur's lungs were fairing no better than Alfred's; He kept himself in shape, but he wasn't accustomed to running this hard for this long anymore.

"I don't know, you're the damned expert with this shit!"

Arthur wracked his brain for something to help them, and after a moment, formulated something of a plan. " Well, if we can get far enough ahead so I could stop-"

"Stop?! Are you fucking _nuts_? There's no way in hell I'm stopping, and you can't expect me to leave you on your own!"

"Agh! _Fine_! Let me think."

Alfred glanced behind them; The man was only twenty-or-so feet behind them. "You better think fast, Arthur!"

"Shut up! I-" Arthur paused his speech as something of an idea came to him. "America, how much would it slow you down to carry me?"

"What? Oh, god, you aren't going to collapse or something are you?!" Alfred fretted, sparing a quick glance in Arthur's direction.

"No! Just answer the question!"

"Uh- Not much; You aren't heavy, so-"

"Good! Okay, this should work, then. I'm going need to run in front of you just long enough for you to grab me, alright?"

"Okay,"

Alfred slowed himself a bit as Arthur somehow managed to force his legs faster, allowing them to form a single-file line for just a second before Alfred overcame the smaller nation, snatching him off his feet by the waist and speeding up again. Arthur maneuvered himself in the American's tight grip, spinning to hook his legs over Alfred's hips securely, one looped tightly around his neck while he leaned slightly over his shoulder to face the armored monstrosity behind them. Alfred had the good sense not to ask what exactly they were doing.

Arthur drew a deep breath and closed his eyes to help his focus, extended his free arm towards their attacker's direction, and began reciting in a forceful, confident voice, "_EGO precor Matris , Abbas , quod quattuor Vigilo Towers succurro mihi in adeptio meus calx. Succurro mihi transmitto is phasmatis inscribo in suus via , sospes quod vacuus causa vulnero ut alius , ut totus may exsisto tutus quod procul pacis. Ut ut Matris , ut ut Abbas , ut ut Terra , ut ut Aer , ut ut Incendia , ut ut Unda , ut est volo. Permissum meus ero perfectus!_" **(2)**

There was a small flash of straight white light, and the second set of running feet in the hall ceased. Alfred looked over his shoulder, still running, to see a thick grey smoke obscuring his view. He kept pace until he hit the entrance of another hall and turned down it before he stopped, setting Arthur back on his feet. They caught their breath for a moment, then peeked cautiously around the corner.

"…Your magic stuff is real, huh?" Alfred asked quietly as they watched the cloud begin to thin.

"I've been telling you so since you were naught but a tiny colony."

Finally, the dust cleared enough to be able to see through.

And the nations were immediately running again; The tin man may have stopped, but he was still there, and as soon as they were able to see him, he started forward again.

"What in the bleeding fuck?!" Arthur yelled, mostly addressing himself, "That should have worked! _Why the hell didn't it work_?"

"Well, all that hocus pocus shit might be real, but apparently you aren't any good at it!"

"Shut the fuck up! I don't see you figuring out what to do here!"

It was then that Alfred recognized where they were. If he was right, then they would have enough of a head start now… "England, here- This way!" Alfred grabbed a hold of one of Arthur's hands and hauled him into a corridor on their left, down a few feet, took a sharp right, and jerked Arthur against him into a narrow, but deep alcove cut out in the wall. They tucked themselves back as far as possible, forcing themselves to stifle their heaving breaths as they heard the man approaching. The steps were thunderous at first, and he went right passed them, but then they could hear him come to a top a little ways down the hall. There was a long silence; The nations held their breath and clung to one another's arms tightly.

But it appeared that luck wasn't on their side tonight.

_"N' she said, 'Hoot, I cannae get back tae my hoose in bonny __**Scotland**__!- Girl! With the hazel eyes! AAA-aaa-AAA-aaa-Ah! Girl! With the hazel eyes! AAA-aaa-AAA-aaa-Ah!"_ **(3)**

Alfred and Arthur gawped at each other in equal parts incredulity and horror.

The knight-like pursuer was at their hiding place in an instant, raising the sword above himself. Preferring to go down with at least a little dignity, the blondes refrained from screaming, clenched their eyes shut as they hunched their shoulders reflexively, and steeled themselves for their impending doom.

But the doom never came. Instead, they were presented with a maniacal cackle that dripped with self-satisfaction. They opened their eyes cautiously and chanced a look just in time to see the tittering ghost pull off his helmet.

…

………

"_WALES_?!" Arthur screeched in absolute outrage.

"_Ddylasech canfod eich gwynebu dde awron , Lloegr!_ You look so stupid!" Wales chortled.

Alfred eyed the male with shoulder-length, wavy auburn hair, and eyebrows that were pretty similar to… "Oh! You're Arthur's brother!"

"I am, to my great misfortune. Do you people know how long I've been trying to get to you? I waited in the dungeon earlier, but you ran off before I could jump ya'."

"Wales," Arthur growled, his eyes glinting menacingly, "I hope you're prepared, because you've just invited another war a war to your doorstep."

"Bring it on, _pen pidyn_! I'll gather my forces right now and tell them all about what a wuss you are, cowering in corners from ghosts!" Wales turned and started stomping out of the hall.

Alfred was forced to physically restrain a threat-screaming Arthur from chasing after his sibling and starting a brawl right there in the castle. After a few minutes, Alfred managed to placate him (for the most part) with promises of tea when they got back to their room, and they started the daunting task of finding their way back upstairs, discussing along the way how, although inconvenient, it was a good thing they'd ended up clear on the other side of the castle from any of the guest rooms, what with all the yelling they'd been doing.

They got back to their room without further incident, and exhaustedly went through their respective pre-bed routines when they arrived (including quick showers for the both of them; All that running worked up a sweat). By the time they were both clean, dressed in their choice pajamas, and settled between the sheets of their separate beds, it was a little after half-passed two in the morning. They said their good-nights, and snuggled into their pillows for a well-deserved rest after a very eventful night.

Regretfully, though, as soon as Alfred's mind had the reprieve it needed to catch up on everything that'd happened, he found himself anxious. Every creak the building made as is settled sounded ominous, and he jumped every time Arthur shifted in his bed a few feet away.

Sure, it had turned out that the only ghost to try and hurt them today hadn't actually been a ghost at all, but who was to say that there wasn't a real one lurking around bent on mayhem?

Alfred bit his lip and glanced towards his room-mate. He didn't seem to _quite_ be asleep yet, so…

"Hey, um- Artie? Are you awake?" He asked, just loud enough to by heard, but not so much above a whisper that it would rouse Arthur if he'd been unconscious already.

"Nnnh?" Arthur sort-of responded without so much as removing his face from his pillow.

"Ah… D'you think, maybe, that I could- Er..That I could sleep with you?" He fidgeted uncomfortably with his blanket.

Arthur rolled over so he was facing Alfred's direction and cracked an eyeball to look him over wearily.

Alfred did his best to look downright pitiful- he even quivered his lower lip slightly.

Arthur sighed tiredly and slid over further in his bed, rolled onto his back, and lifted the blankets in acquiescence. "You're really _far_ too old for this bollocks, you know."

Alfred grinned brilliantly, crawled out of his bed, and into Arthur's. "Yeah, but it's not my fault we had an evening that should land me in therapy for the rest of my life."

"They should just toss you in an asylum directly."

Alfred tucked himself against Arthur's side, nestling his head under the older boy's chin **(4)** and closing his eyes. "If I get put in the loony bin before you, it'll be a crime against nature."

"_You're_ a crime against nature." He murmured, adjusting himself to drape an arm over Alfred's shoulders.

"Psh- Who's got the great come-backs now, huh?"

"Shuttup 'n go to sleep, git.

"…Hey, England?"

"_What_?"

"Would you sing me a lullaby, like when I was a kid?"

"Do you _want_ me to shove you out of this bed?"

"Er...No?"

"Then stop pushing your luck, shut the hell up, and _go to sleep_."

"Oh, fine. G'night, spoilsport."

"Good night, wanker."

~*~

* * *

**(1)** Untouched, by The Veronicas. The artists are Australian. I just.. like this song and felt like making them dance. xD

**(2) **Okay, so to start off, I'm a practicing witch. I don't recite my incantations in latin (which is the language used here), and I don't get smoke and lights without every-day sources when I do my magick. I would like to explain, though, that although magick rituals are pretty nearly always shown as needing bit ol' chalk circles and all sorts of other things, this isn't an actual rule. True, that when witches work spells, there is almost always some sort of ritual involved, but this is mostly to help one focus one's own energies and intentions. When in a pinch, you CAN do things without any of the convenient accessories and tools.

Secondly, this isn't a legit spell; I pulled it off the top of my head for the story, although it's very similar in base to the vocal recitations I do myself when working spells.

**(3) **For anyone who forgot, this is Iggy's ringtone. In case you didn't figure it out, it was Wales who called him. =p

**(4)** I imagine that, like most people, Iggy is less objectionable when he's half-conscious, thus allowing for America to get away with some minor innocent cuddling. Aside from that, it stands to reason that this could fall under one of those 'old habits die hard' categories, since, I'm sure, there were many occasions in America's childhood days where he'd get scared for whatever reason and clamber into Iggy's bed snuggles and comfort. I didn't write that part to seem romantic, but more as a friendly, brotherly sort of deal.

* * *

**  
A/N**: … I'm glad this chapter is done, you have no idea. Oh god.  
So yeah. Um. Illegitimate Wales. I'm actually really sorry about that, and no, it's not an OC, but I wanted another country to make an appearance and scare the balls out of our poor blondes, and none of the official characters would have made much of any sense, so.

Also, Ruthin Castle Hotel is a real place, and Lady Grey is a real ghost. Now, I tried to be as close to accurate with my descriptions and facts as possible, but I haven't been outside North America since I was a fetus (EG, I've never BEEN to Wales). As such, I only had internet pictures and stuff to go by, and of course, therefore, had to blatantly fabricate some things. If anyone's ever actually been there, I apologize for any inaccuracies. I probably won't change them if you point them out to me, because it'd just take way too much re-writing, but you know. If you want to tell me about them anyway, that's cool.

Um.. I guess that's just about it. Hopefully I'll write more for you guys soon, and pleasepleaseplease _**review**_ for me, kay? I drove myself crazy writing this chapter, I'd really love some feedback.

**Translations-**  
Welsh:  
_Ddylasech canfod eich gwynebu dde awron , Lloegr!- _You should see your face right now, England!  
_Pen pidyn-_ Dickhead.


	4. Be

**A/N**: Hey, all!

This chapter was actually supposed to be tooootally different than it is. In fact, I had already gotten six pages into it (I didn't delete those six pages; they've been set aside for later use) when **Ame Mika'Zuki**, who is apparently brilliant at coming up with ideas for me, made some suggestions that were just too awesome for me to pass up. Buuuut, some of them would only work if I implemented them immediately, so I had to stop and write this instead.

Sooo… I had to use Wales again. Not only did I have to use Wales again, but I also had to introduce ANOTHER not-quite-cannon character. And, they have much larger roles than Wales did last chapter. I hope it doesn't bother anyone; Everyone was received Wales very well last chapter, so I got a little more brave with the concept of not-quite-cannon characters. Don't worry; I don't intend to make a habit of this, and I will certainly not be implementing any actual OC nations; Just these two (hopefully) who HAVE been mentioned in the series, just never been really introduced or filled out.  
I gave both these characters human names as well, because I don't use the country names when I'm writing really unless one nation is addressing another, and it'd be awkward to break that, so. Both the names are common names used in their respective countries.  


* * *

* * *

Alfred mumbled incoherently in his sleep, nuzzling into the mop of soft blonde hair that his cheek was pressed against. He shifted as best he could in the tangle of sheets to pull the warm body sharing the space with his own closer, willing himself to stay unconscious. His internal clock was very clearly telling him that he hadn't gotten his full eight hours yet, but some other part of his mind was nudging at him, advising that there was something going on that ought to be sending up red flags.

There was a thin beam of sunlight infiltrating the room from the not-fully-drawn curtains, but that wasn't the problem; He could sleep well into the afternoon on occasion when he was at home, and had never cared much for closing his drapes before bed. It wasn't the other person in bed with him, either. After all, he hadn't been drinking the night prior, and could easily tell they were both fully dressed (well, as fully dressed as one could comfortably be for bed). At any rate, the vague smell of oceanic spray and sage that clung permanently to the other body would have been a dead giveaway that it was Arthur, even if Alfred _had_ been drunk, so there was no cause for worry there. He didn't feel like he needed to use the bathroom, nor was his stomach complaining of hunger… If it wasn't any of those things trying to get him up, then what was?

Ah. _There_ was the issue.

A muffled snicker and insistent shushing sounded from nearby, no more than a few feet away. Still only marginally awake, brain groggy and slow from sleep, Alfred disentangled his upper body from his bedmate to prop himself up on an elbow and look around, eliciting a garbled complaint and some shuffling from Arthur. Blearily, Alfred took stock of the room.

There were two figured huddled around a phone together at the end of the bed. One was of average height, with waved red-mahogany hair that touched his shoulders and pale green irises- '_Wales_', Alfred's mind supplied for him. The other was several inches taller, with short-cut, dark ginger hair, sideburns, and a pair of thick, unruly-looking brows above grey-blue eyes. They both put an index finger to their lips with a commanding '_Shhhh!_, signaling to Alfred not to blow their cover. Alfred blinked at them owlishly for a moment, trying to decide whether or not he should be demanding answers for why exactly they were hovering at the foot of a bed in a room they shouldn't have been able to get into, but switched his gaze over to Arthur when he slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Wh' bloody time is't?" Arthur asked, voice rough from sleep, before he pulled his hands away from his eyes and jumped a bit in surprise at the two extra men in the room.

Slowly, Arthur's expression of surprise slid into one of bafflement, to realization, to annoyance, and finally, landed home at sheer malevolence.

"What the _sodding fuck_?!"

The two men broke into boisterous guffaws, hitting a button on the phone before clicking it shut.  
_  
_"Sorry, little brother," The blonde managed after he settled himself down, "We didn't realize we were interrupting the honeymoon."

"Good job, though! Didn't think you'd ever get to settle down, with a face like that!"

"I am going to annex and partition the _hell_ out of both of you! What in the name of the queen are you arseholes even _doing_ in here?!"

"Marc called me last night and said you showed up here with the youngin', so I thought I'd drop by and help ruin your day!" Said the taller man.

"We thought we'd do some nice brotherly bondin', but it looks like you're getting' _plenty_ of _that_." Wales grinned in a decidedly France-like manner.

"Uh, s'cuse me, but," Alfred interjected, pointing to taller of the two, "Who're you?"

"Ah! S'right, neither of us has ever been properly introduced to ya', on account of lil' England's bein' a bad brother." Wales started, "I'm Marc Cadwalder."

"Angus Macrae, or Scotland. We're Arthur's elder brothers, of course."

"You're hardly my brothers. Absolute tossers, the both of you." Arthur scoffed.

"Er, nice to meet you, I guess? But, if you guys and Artie don't get along-"

"_Artie_!" The two repeated joyously before they broke into a small fit of laughter.

"-Then, why would you want to come hang out with us?"

"Angus already said: We're here to ruin England's day!"

"It's rather a habit of theirs." Arthur sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off his oncoming headache.

"Yep! Been that way since he was jus' a tiny bugger!" Angus confirmed.

"Oh. So, uh… How'd you guys even get in here?" Alfred asked.

"The Brownie.**(1)**" All three of the UK nations answered in a tone that suggested they thought this to be something so obvious that a two-year-old would know it.

"…Oh god, not you guys _too_!" Alfred cried, a little distressed at the prospect of dealing with _three_ people who had imaginary friends.

"_Oh_." Angus said, as if he'd just been given the answer to a question he'd wondered on for a very long time, "This is the pie eater **(2)** that can't see The Wee Folk, then?"

"The very one." Arthur confirmed. "Can't see much of anything he ought to. Had to use a video camera in the dungeons so he could see the inhabitants down there."

The three Europeans shared a laugh, and Alfred had a hard time deciding if he should be concerned that he was in a room full of loonies, or if he should feel like the loser that had missed out on seeing the latest box-office hit and couldn't understand the jokes people were making about it.

"Anyway," Arthur said when they'd gotten over their amusement, "Terribly sorry to burst your bubbles, but America and I are heading back to London today, so we'll have no time for your bollocks."

"Not anymore!" Marc said, prideful, "We've taken the liberty of extending your reservation here another night, so you have plenty of time."

"…I loathe you both. Have I told you that lately? I wish you'd get hit by wayward freight trains." Arthur told them.

The older boys cackled, sounding very pleased with themselves indeed.

~*~

* * *

**(1)** A helpful type of fairy.

**(2)** Scottish slang, for a person with stinted intellect. Because it's slang and not really a different language, and because I'm not going to go through this whole thing trying to type in Scottish dialect (which is prettymuch really odd skewered English and can be understood if you say it aloud to yourself; kinda like typing out an accent), which would be confusing for all of us, I'll this make annotations for the scot-specific words and phrases, 'kay? Kay.

* * *

~*~

It had taken some effort, but eventually Arthur had coerced his brothers to evacuate the room on the condition that they all meet at a small restaurant in town to have breakfast together. The blondes relented to the terms after nearly half an hour, and were left alone to change into some proper day-time attire. As soon as they were dressed, they went to the parking lot, climbed into Arthur's car, and made their way towards the restaurant Marc had specified.

When they arrived, after a drive of around fifteen minutes, the other two nations were waiting for them in the quaint establishment at a table for four. Alfred and Arthur seated themselves on one side of the table, across from the elder brothers. The room was fairly spacious, but not too large, with hard-wood floors, beige paint on the walls, and large windows. A few scarce pictures and paintings of landscapes served to decorate the place, and the whole lay-out was simple, but attractive in an uncluttered and clean way. All of the tables were set with stark white tablecloths, but nothing else, and there were very few other customers; At this time of day, nearly everyone was at work or school. A young, slender waitress came by shortly and took their orders (Arthur **(1)** and Marc had to help the other two nations with both picking out their food and ordering, as everything was in Welsh), returning a few minutes later with their food and drinks.

Part way through the meal, Alfred realized something spectacular: Arthur's brothers could very well be a phenomenal help in his plot to bring out Arthur's non-gentlemanly behavior- In fact, they were already doing a pretty bang-up job of it. It seemed like it was nearly their life goals to rile Arthur up. Every other word that came out of either of their mouths made Arthur absolutely livid. Not even twenty minutes into their meal, Arthur'd attempted to chuck a drinking glass at Angus' head, missed, and smashed a vase of flowers the next table over- And he hadn't even been sorry! He told the waitress that he was '_horribly sorry he missed that wanker's face_' and to '_Just add it to the bill, love- and keep the broom handy; He suspected he'd be taking another shot shortly_'. It was amazing!

He also realized that, though he'd known Arthur had brothers, he'd never thought of him as being the _younger_ sibling. But here he was, with his older brothers picking on him like anyone's older brothers would, taking every chance to make a jab at Arthur, or to slug him in the shoulder, or ruffle his hair, calling him things like 'youngling', and 'little England', and any number of other, more offensive things.

And for course, Arthur, with his temper, didn't take this lying down; He hollered, he swore up a storm, he hit back- But Marc and Angus just kept pouring it on with ease. Eventually, Arthur flipped.

-The table, that is.

What was left of their breakfast was introduced to the older brothers' clothes, and the dishes met their untimely demise on the floor. Before Alfred had even fully registered what had happened, Arthur launched himself over the toppled table and slammed into Marc and Angus, sending the three of them sprawling in a pile on the ground, and the fists started flying.

An all-out war was underway in less than ten seconds. At first, Arthur was holding his own against the both of them, but when he dodged a punch Marc had aimed for him, the fist ended up catching Angus in the jaw instead, and the Scotsman immediately retaliated, successfully destroying their alliance.

It took no time at all for their three-way match to move across the floor as they sent one another flying into the vacant tables around them, obliterating innocent chairs in their wake. They occasionally became entangled in the tablecloths, but it didn't slow any of them down for even an instant; They kept right on lashing out at their opponents, regardless of what happened to be unfortunate enough to get in their way. A woman somewhere in the room was screaming, but it could hardly be heard over the harsh battle-cries anyway. Knees were rammed into stomachs, noses were nearly broken, lips were split open, clothes were torn… The whole thing left the distinct impression of a bar fight between three guys who'd found out they'd all been sleeping with each other's wives. They didn't seem to be holding back in the slightest, all aiming to do as much damage to the others as possible, each one of them obviously refusing to take a defensive position as they took the hits with grunts or short wails of pain and kept right on swinging.

When Angus tackled his brothers into the far wall, causing a large picture frame to jump from its nail and shatter over their heads in a cascade of glass, Alfred finally regained his senses. He bolted into action instantly, shooting across the room to the other nations. As soon as they were within his reach, he grabbed the larger two by the collars of their shirts, and with a mighty heave, sent them careening through the air several feet before they collided with the floor. Just as soon as the other two were off of him, Arthur made to lunge again, but Alfred caught him around the waist and held the thrashing Englishman back.

"Alfred, _what the fuck_?! Let me-"

"_Arthur fucking Kirkland_!"Alfred screamed in much the way a parent would when they discovered their pre-teen smashing out all the windshield of their car with a baseball bat.

This not only gave Arthur pause, but the two other Europeans sprawled on the floor seen fit to give their attention as well, not accustomed to anyone taking that sort of tone with 'Little England'.

When Alfred was sure that no one would go on the attack again, he continued, "Would you guys _look_ at what you just did?! This room looks like it got ran through by a heard stampeding wildebeests on steroids! What the hell?!"

They did indeed look. They had managed to completely demolish nearly half the room's contents, and the few other customers that had been there when they came had vacated the premises sometime during the fight. You couldn't even see the floor for all the debris. Every single member of the restaurant staff was crowded near the kitchen, wearing expressions of varied levels of shock and fear.

All this, and the combat had lasted for no more than seven minutes.

There was a long silence during which they took note of all the damage. Then, the three siblings looked at each other, took in their own and their brothers' levels of physical devastation…

And, much to Alfred's incredulity, burst into absolutely riotous laughter.

The American stared at them, dumbstruck and baffled.

"Ah, Gods above," Angus managed between cackled, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, "It's been a might long time since we've destroyed a room this well!"

"The room?" Marc asked incredulously, "Look at _us_! People will think we got hit by a bus!"

"We certainly did make a right mess of ourselves." Arthur laughed, rubbing blood off his chin with his shirt sleeve.

"…What is _wrong_ with you guys?" Alfred asked in disbelief.

It was then that one of the staff members, a hulk of a man with thick dark hair and a well-trimmed beard, roused himself from his previously thunderstruck state and stomped his way over, a vicious glower on his face, and started screaming at them in welsh with a deep voice.

Alfred kept close to Arthur and rested a hand on his shoulder, a little protectively, feeling weary of a man of that stature hollering and gesturing wildly such as he was. Marc and Arthur spoke to him calmly, if a small bit sheepishly, and Angus, deciding that he would be of no help there, wandered out of the restaurant and down the road to a small drug store in order to procure some first-aid supplies.

There was a very lengthy conversation, and the huge man insisted on yelling the whole time. Sadly, neither Marc nor Arthur had very long fuses themselves, and raised their own voices several times, Making Alfred fret (because, even though he knew he could take the colossal dude, he didn't want to have to- Which he certainly would, if the guy made any move to cause [further] harm to Arthur's person). After some time, though, they managed to placate what turned out to be the owner of the establishment with a very hefty check, and were free to leave without so much as a call to the police, to Alfred's great relief.

This vacation wasn't turning out to be very relaxing at all. _"But on the bright side,"_ Alfred thought to himself, _"That right there was a pretty decent look at some of that repressed… whatever-it-is Arthur has."_

When they finally got back out to the street, Angus was waiting for them with two plastic bags full of various medical supplies. They found a small gas station nearby, and Marc and Angus secured a key to the bathroom to clean up in there. Alfred parked Arthur on a strip of grass adjacent to the building and kneeled in front of him with one of the bags. He took Arthur's chin in his hand gingerly and very carefully started to clear away the blood on his face with a peroxide-soaked cotton ball.

"Christ on a bike, Art. What the hell were you thinking, starting a fight like that right in the middle of a diner?"

"_I_ didn't start it." Arthur told him matter-of-factly, hissing a bit in discomfort when Alfred moved to clean a gash above his right brow.

"Well, alright, they _were_ asking for it with that comment about that whole… Netherlands Incident **(2)**, but _you_ were the one that threw the table over and jumped on them."

"They deserved it."

"Yeah, okay, but still. Lift your shirt."

Arthur did as he was asked, and Alfred prodded gently over his already-bruising abdomen. "It doesn't really matter anyway," Arthur told him, "We'd have gotten into a brawl eventually anyway. We always do. May as well get it out of the way early on."

"You don't think you'll get into another one?" Alfred asked hopefully, crawling around behind Arthur to check his back after cleaning up the minor scrapes and scratches on his chest and belly, "Seems like they get on your nerves pretty much all the time."

"They do. We usually only get into one big scuffle like that, though; Once we've worked one another over relatively well, we're a lot less likely to go at it again. If we're already sore we don't much care to further damage ourselves, and when we can look at each other and think, '_Well now, that was a bloody brilliant punch I landed to give you that black eye_', it takes the edge off just a tad."

"That makes sense, I guess. Close your eyes and shake your head."

Arthur dropped his shirt and followed the instructions, sending little bits of glass flying out of his hair. When he stopped, Alfred cautiously went through the blonde locks with his fingers, plucking out any of the shards that had stubbornly remained. He then went through a second time, checking for any cuts on his scalp, before moving back around to Arthur's front side. He rolled up Arthur's sleeves to check his arms, and, finding them mostly unharmed, went on to tend his torn and battered knuckles.

"I gotta say though, England," Alfred started after a short silence, "I'm kinda impressed; I didn't think you had fights like that in ya' anymore. You were pretty bad-ass." He grinned.

Arthur scoffed, but a pleased smile made its way to his face anyway, re-opening the tear in his lower lip that had been clotting well until then. "Don't be absurd. I've not broken anything, so you and I have gotten into worse fights than that."

"Yeah, but there's _two_ of them."

Arthur rolled his eyes bemusedly, "And they were fighting each other as well as myself."

"Not when you first got them down, and you were holding up perfectly fine then. You probably couldn't have kept it up for long, but it was still pretty beastly for an old guy."

"Belt up, git." He gave a playful shove to Alfred's chest.

"Still, I'll be glad if you guys don't go at it again. I was kinda worried there for a second, you know." Alfred brushed the fresh blood from Arthur's swollen lip with his thumb, "Thought they might smash your head against something- Give you a concussion. Then I'd have to swoop in all heroic, kick their asses, and take you to a hospital where no one spoke English. Then we'd be screwed."

Arthur cleared his throat a bit and averted his eyes when Alfred failed to take his thumb away again, leaving it to smooth over the gash on his mouth. "Yes, well-"

"Isn't that just _precious_! _Cawn interrupted y cariadau_!"

"Aw, The nice!**(3) **Maybe we ought leave them be, aye?"

Alfred jerked his hand away and Arthur whipped his head towards his brothers, instantly scowling again.

"Piss off!" Arthur demanded, his cheeks flushing just a bit, "You're spouting rubbish."

"An' then yer arse fell off." **(4) **Angus grinned smugly, "You aren't foolin' anyone here, _Artie_."

Arthur shot up from the grass, glaring. "I'm going to beat seven shades of shit out of-"

"So! Guys! Whatta you say we find mall or something and get you some new clothes, so you don't look like you got mugged!" Alfred interrupted, trying to ward off another impending melee.

It seemed to be enough of a diversion, as Arthur stopped and looked down at himself, plucking at his shirt a little. "…Yes, alright. That would probably be for the best, if we're going to be out in town. No need to put off the locals."

"There isn't a mall here," Marc informed them, "But there are a few clothes stores."

"Great! Let's get back to the cars and get goin', then." Alfred smiled broadly, as insurance that any bad vibes got banished, and seized Arthur's arm to start back in the direction they'd parked.

~*~

* * *

**(1) **Seeing as how Iggy represents the entire UK, my head-canon and logic dictates that he would be fluent in all the languages commonly spoken therein.

**(2) **Okay, so. If you want me to be honest, I don't know a whole lot about this one, but I've heard that the UK is considering taking a lot of specific things out of text books. One of these things is something about having been beaten by the Netherlands in.. something. I'm not entirely sure, but obviously they were fighting over/for something, and the Netherlands won. Now, they're thinking of taking this out of the books because it was a long time ago that it happened, and since then the Netherlands have supposedly gotten very suckish. The theory is that, since more recent generations didn't have the opportunity to live in a time when the Netherlands were still, y'know, productive and cool or whatever, that people will be confused and wonder how in the hell the UK would have lost to them. So, basically, it makes them look really bad and they want to do away with it. I just wanted a touchy subject that didn't have to do with (so far as I know) the loss of a colony.

**(3)** "The Nice" is Scottish slang. It's like, "how/so cute!", and used a lot along with 'aww'. So, "Aw, how cute!"

**(4)** "An' then yer arse fell off" is pretty much a sarcastic scot way of saying someone's bullshitting. For example: "I reeled the fish in, and I swear it was as tall as I am!" "An' then yer arse fell off."

* * *

~*~

They successfully attained new sets of clothing from a relatively small clothing store (with some decidedly terrified-looking workers) without any major setbacks, to Alfred's relief. There were of course, some arguments, but none of them hit any serious nerves, so all way well.

Though, Alfred was already feeling a little exhausted. He wasn't used to playing mediator with so many short-tempered people at once, least of all when Arthur was one of them. He was finding himself feeling a new appreciation for single parents.

He seemed to be catching a bit of a break now, though; The siblings had settled into more standard brotherly squabbling, and almost seemed to be enjoying themselves in it. Alfred himself got roped into several of the disputes, Marc and Angus declaring him their 'Little Brother That Never Was', insisting that he call them his 'Big Brothers' (which Arthur threw a bit of a fit over) and showing him no mercy with their teasing and general horseplay, which, in turn, encouraged playful banter from both Arthur and himself.

They didn't seem to have much, if any plan as to what they were doing with their day. They'd ditched the vehicles in a randomly selected parking lot and walked through the town, popping into very nearly every store or business they came across, Marc and Arthur alternatively giving small history lessons on this building or that memorial.

Alfred was actually having a great time. It was like having a big family that you hadn't seen in years. He'd been accepted into the little group readily, and Arthur was… Well, Arthur was acting more his physical age than Alfred had seen in a long time. He laughed almost as much as he yelled, and was giving smiles more freely in between his glares and scowls.

It was pretty funny, Alfred thought; Arthur swore up and down that he hated his brothers, and he'd certainly seen some strong evidence for it, but after that initial confrontation, they all seemed to settle down with each other and just picked at one another like any regular set of siblings did.

It was sometime around mid-day, and they'd found something of a small park. It was a fairly warm day, and the sky was a bit overcast, but it was nice out none the less. The park didn't have anything for children to play on, but there were benches along a winding sidewalk and a few large trees, some bushes, and a pedestrian or two playing with dogs on the lush grass. Angus gave Marc a bit of a nudge with his elbow and a _look_. Alfred had been just about to ask about it, when Marc gave Arthur a harsh shove and sent him into a bit of foliage, then took off running down the walkway. Arthur was up and in hot pursuit, swearing all the way, in a quarter of a second.

Alfred made to go after them, hoping to nab the Englishman before he could catch up to his brother and start another fight, but Angus held him back with a firm hand on his shoulder. Alfred looked at him questioningly, and was met with a very stern gaze.

"We need to have a talk, you and I." The Scotsman told him in a very no-nonsense voice, shoving Alfred to sit in one of the benches and looming over him.

Alfred glanced in the direction the other two had run off in, then turned his attention back to Angus. He flashed a smile. "Uh, Okay, then. What about?"

"England, of course." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Alright."

There was a pause.

"… And this _special relationship_ you have." Angus elaborated when Alfred seemed to have failed to grasp the idea he was getting at.

"Oh! Well, that one guy from Art's place came up with that term. It was something about how we, like, share a lot of culture and historical things, and a lot of military support, and basically how we just come off as being closer than any other Major Powers. Personally-"

"Not like that! I mean to say, the…_intimate_ relationship."

Alfred stared at him. "…I don't get it."

"Ach!" Angus slapped a palm over his face in exasperation, "The _romantic relationship_, between _you_ and _Arthur_! I'll have you know that it will not be tolerated if-"

Alfred broke out into hysterics, doubling over and clutching his stomach in an attempt to ease the cramping, laughing so hard that he could scarcely breathe.

That is, until Angus fisted the front of his shirt and slammed him against the back of the bench, leveling him with an expression that bespoke of imminent and severe pain. "I fail to see what is so funny."

Alfred's amusement ceased immediately, and he held his hands up I surrender. "Woah, hey. It's cool, dude. Just, y'know. Artie and me aren't _dating_."

Unfortunately, this didn't seem to have the placating effect he was going for; Angus just looked more angry, drawing in close to Alfred's face. "So you're jerking _my_ little brother around? Is that how you Americans do things? Lead people on and drop them when you've had your fill?"

"No!" Alfred corrected quickly, trying to scoot backwards but, of course, was held up by the wood pressed against his back, "I mean, we aren't involved like that! At all! We're just buds, man. What's Arthur call 'um- Uh… Mates! Y'know; Friends. Just…yeah."

Angus loosened his grip and leaned back to a slightly less nerve-wracking distance, staring Alfred down apprehensively. He considered the statement for a momentarily. Then- "…You're lying."

"No, seriously! Ask him!"

"_He'd_ lie."

"Then ask anyone! Well…Maybe not anyone. Actually," Alfred paused, thinking. "A lot of people seem to come to that same conclusion. Jeez, do we really come off like that?"

"You do." Angus confirmed, releasing his hold on Alfred's shirt and stepping back to cross his arms again.

"Yeah, well. We're seriously not."

"You were in the same bed this morning."

"That was just because- Er. I mean, with all the ghosts and stuff there, I was a little…uneasy- Not scared! _Uneasy_, and when I was a kid, we slept together all the time if I had trouble getting to bed, so…"

"And I suppose the _nestling together_ was necessary?" He quirked an eyebrow.

"Hey! We were unconscious, that totally doesn't count!"

"What's your excuse for _stroking _his_ mouth_ earlier, then?"

"What? When?!"

"After we left the restaurant."

"You mean at the gas station? His lip is split, I was just getting the blood off!"

"Really? It _looked_ like you were about to start playing tonsil hockey."

"No!" Alfred flushed a little, "I told you! We aren't- We don't-"

"Yes, well." He cut him off, "Either way, I'm not convinced. Marc and I just wanted to warn you," He brought himself uncomfortably close again, and continued in a low, threatening voice, "If you break our Little England, we will _personally_ break your _face_. And everything else of yours, for that matter."

"Oh, okay then." He seemed mostly unaffected by the threat, shrugging. "That's no problem. Involved or not- Which we're not- I wouldn't do anythin' to hurt Artie."

"You've certainly done it before."

Alfred's face dropped into one of those, '_Don't fuckin' go there'_ glares. "Hey, now that's-"

He cut himself short when a distressed wail sliced through the air. Alfred and Angus both turned, unsurprisingly, in the direction their two comrades had disappeared shortly beforehand. Soon enough, Marc came into view, running like his like depended on it and hollering in his native tongue. Arthur appeared behind him, brandishing what appeared to be a large tree branch. With the speed at which they were running, they reached the other two nations within forty seconds, and Marc dived behind Angus for cover. When Arthur made to follow, intent on beating his sibling's skull in, Angus clothes-lined him at the waist, extracted the branch from his grasp, and flung him into a startled American's lap. Alfred caught him deftly and held him, pinned to his chest, as Arthur struggled to continue his attack.

"Get your wife under control, America!" Marc chided, still behind the tallest brother, "He's trying to bludgeon me with severed tree limbs!"

"_Wife_?!" Arthur screeched indignantly, redoubling his efforts to escape.

"You don't expect me to believe you're the _man_ of the relationship, do you?" Mark asked, and he and Angus went into cackling.

"When I catch you, you bloody twat, I'm going to ring your fucking neck!"

Alfred shot up from the bench suddenly, bringing the irate Brit with him, holding him princess style. "Let's go get ice cream, guys!" He recommended cheerfully, once again trying to implement a distraction.

And it worked to divert Arthur's irritation. Though, he really just re-directed it to himself.

"Put me down, wanker! I'm not a damn woman!" Though he was blatantly displeased, he stopped flailing; He didn't want to be dropped, after all.

Marc and Angus were infinitely amused.

* * *

**A/N:** H'okay. I'm gunna cut this off here, so as to avoid an infinitely longer chapter yet again. I need to do some more research and poking around anyway, before I decide exactly what way I'd like to finish this. Note, that this isn't the whole chapter; This will be part one of two. I thought you guys would rather have it that way anyhow, as it means you've got something to read sooner.

Once again, I hope the not-quite-cannon characters didn't bother y'all too much. I realize the response might be different this time, since the rolls are much larger in this chapter, but.. well, just, sorry if it bothered you.

Also, I think Alfred came off as being a lot more in-tune with atmosphere in this chapter than we're all used to. I'd like to point out, because of that, that according to the owner of this wonderful series, Alfred is not INCAPABLE of reading the atmosphere, but simply chooses to ignore it pretty much all the time. As such, I feel that if he found it to be something corresponding with his personal motives, he'd be perfectly able to intercept the mood of a situation. So, I don't consider it to actually be out-of-character for him, but if the rest of you do and think my reasoning is bollocks, then I'm sorry. xD

With just a moment of your time, you can help to make this author more productive! Please **review**! 3

Translations:  
**Wales**:  
_Cawn interrupted y cariadau_- We've interrupted the lovers.


	5. My

**A/N:** Okay, sooo.. I don't really have an excuse for why this took me so long, since it's, like… pointless. At least, it seems that way to me. Like, I stare at it and go, "….What the hell, self? What is this crap? Why did you even DO this?". And, actually, I have a lot of excuses for why it took forever, and some of them are pretty legit, too, but mostly it just comes down to me being otherwise occupied and unmotivated. But, well... what can ya do? I've usually dropped chapter stories by now, so.  
Anyway.  
I'm also going to be very busy at least through this weekend, so I won't be working at this too much. Sorry.  
Even though I'm pretty sure this half of the chapter is totally lame, I hope you guys like it.

* * *

-

It was going on five in the afternoon, finding Alfred, Angus, and Marc with their butts parked on a bench outside a shop that they had all, very ill-fatedly, stumbled upon. Arthur was inside, very happily chatting up several women ranging in age from nineteen to late forties. The sign on the front of the quaint store read, according to Marc, "_Rhosyn's Needle-Craft and Sewing_". They'd been sitting there for very nearly twenty minutes.

Needless to say, none of the three men were very pleased, all looking similarly bored and mildly irritated.

"Gods above!" Angus slammed a fist down on the arm rest of the bench, "How long's it take tha' arse bandit to pick out some damn string?!"

"Too fuckin' long!" Marc Answered immediately.

Alfred sighed over-dramatically, fidgeting in his seat impatiently. "I don't know why he even _needs_ string! What kind of guy does embroidery, for Christ's sakes?!"

"A right pussy, that's what kind!"

"Aye! I wish that little brother of ours would stop actin' like such a woman. It's a slight on the family name!"

"Angus, you guys don't have the same last name."

"Irrelevant!" The two nations chorused vehemently.

"It _is_ a total drag though." Alfred continued, "I mean, I hear all these stories about how crazy and awesome he used to be, and the other day his bosses called me and made me go drag him out of this fuckin' insane punk concert, but then he turns around with is tea and his sewing and his sweater vests. What the hell, right? That's why I talked him into this vacation in the first place."

"What'cha mean, lad?" Angus asked.

"Yeah," Marc added, "How's Little England being a great panzy make you want to hang 'round with him?"

"Well, it's 'cus he runs around swearing he's this 'Proper English Gentleman' that he act so lame most of the time, but that's such a load of bull. No real gentleman cusses like a sailor, or gets into so many brawls, or- Or has _tattoos_ and goes to crazy concerts like that! It just doesn't make sense! So, y'know. I figured, he's in denial or something, and if I get him in the right situations, he'll loosen up and stop acting so un-awesome. It's been working alright so far, but… I dunno. I was hoping for somethin' more dramatic I guess."

Marc and Angus shared a knowing, conspiratorial look. They glanced back towards the shop window behind them to confirm that Arthur was still preoccupied, and then leaned in close to Alfred, speaking in quiet, plotting tones, grinning deviously.

"Dramatic, aye?"

"We know how to do that. Y'should have asked our help in the first place."

"Really? Awesome!"

"_Shhhhh_!" They both warned, and Alfred snapped his mouth shut.

"Okay," Marc whispered, "There's obviously more than one option for this sort of thing, but as for tonight…"

"Y'ever seen lil' England on a stage?" Angus finished the inquiry.

"On a stage? For what?"

The brothers shared nearly identical Cheshire grins.

"Alright. Here's the plan, then. You keep Art busy a while, and tell him you're to meet us at the local pub in about an hour- He'll know which we mean." Marc instructed.

"Er, alright. Where y'guys goin'?"

"We've us some shopping to do." Angus told him, looking almost maniacal.

"Oh. Um, okay." Alfred complied, looking a bit confused.

"There's a good lad." Angus patted Alfred on the head as he stood.

"Is there anythin' in particular we should do until then?" Alfred asked.

"Nah." Marc told him as he heaved himself up, still smirking, "Just leave everything to Big Brothers."

~*~  
-

"What did they say they were leaving for?"

"Uh, they didn't." Alfred fibbed, "Jus' said to tell you they had some stuff to do real quick, and to meet them at the bar in about an hour. How the hell did you spend almost half an hour in that store and leave without actually _buying_ anything?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, well. You see, I was looking for a very particular type of tweezers, and it so happened that they hadn't any in stock at the moment. The owner, Idella-"

"I thought her name was Rhosyn?"

"No, no. That's just the shop's name."

"What's the sense in calling your store 'Rhosyn's Needle-Craft and Sewing' if your name ain't Rhosyn?"

"It's named after Idella's great-grandmother, who taught her to sew when she was a girl. As I was saying, she was absolutely sure that I'd have been able to use a different set of tweezers she carried just as well, but I was quite certain she wasn't correct- And, really, who's been embroidering longer, she of I? I didn't ask her that, of course, as it would have sounded absurd coming from someone who looked well younger than she, but, I digress. Naturally, she asked about the pattern I was working on and-"

"You do know that all that sounds like total gibberish to me, right?"

Arthur paused to stare at him for a moment. "Ah. That's right. I got so used to the intelligent conversation in the store that I forgot exactly who it is I'm dealing with."

"You're so mean!" Alfred pouted.

"Fine. I'll make a deal with you, then."

"…Yeah?" Alfred asked, a bit skeptical after the last deal they made, which, obviously, had him running around getting the pants scared off of him.

"Yes. I'll be friendlier when you stop being such a dimwit."

"Dick."

"Ponce."

"Jackass."

"Prat."

"Motherfucker."

"Yours, perhaps."

"… 'Your mom' jokes, England? _Really_?"

"Oh, I _do_ apologize." He said with scathing sarcasm, "Just, between you and my brothers, I've been severely over-exposed to stupidity today. I'm fairly certain that I've lost IQ points by association."

Alfred opened his mouth to retaliate when he noticed the shop window behind Arthur, and his face lit up instantaneously. "England, look! _Bunnies_!" He cried joyously, grabbing Arthur by the arm and dragging him into the store before he _could_ look.

It was a small put supply store, catering to several common types of pets. There was a cheerful looking young lady behind the front counter, who waved at them as they entered before turning back to a magazine she was reading. There was a small variety of actual animals in tanks and cages, the kinds of smaller stature such as fish, mice, and hamsters. Sure enough, in the front window of the store was a pen with a handful of small rabbits, of different breed and colors. Alfred made a bee-line for them, hauling Arthur behind him, eyes a-light.

"Aww!" He cooed over them, "They're so cute! Do y'think we're allowed to pick them up?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, wearing a minute smile for his partner's exuberance over the little animals. "Shall I ask the tending employee for you?"

"Please and thank you!" Alfred chirped, merrily going back to ogling the fluffy mammals in much the same way Spain had the Italy twins when they were tiny.

Arthur shook his head and laughed a bit, then turned to approach the girl behind the counter. He exchanged a few words with her before returning to Alfred's side to stroke one of the critters between the ears. "She said it's fine, as long as your careful with them."

"Yes!" Alfred pumped a fist in the air before selecting a fat lop-eared rabbit out of the pen, holding it to his chest gently. "I love rabbits~"

"You always have. They used to follow you about, when you were young. I had a terrible time of keeping you from bringing them into the house." Arthur commented while he pet one of the bunnies.

"I remember. I let them in anyway when you were gone." He snickered with the small triumph of his youth with the admission of wildlife to his home in Arthur's absence.

"I know. I thought I may as well not make a fuss about it, if it was just small, harmless things like rabbits."

Alfred decided not to mention that he'd once made houseguests of a family of bobcats for several weeks. He exchanged the lop-eared thing he was holding for different, fawn-colored bunny.

"I actually liked rabbits very much when I was young, as well. I was prone to running about forests for extended periods- When life would allow it, at least. Rabbits were always particularly friendly with me, and so I was very fond of them. Other living things not behaving harshly with me was a rare commodity at the time." Arthur admitted absently, looking a bit lost in his own little world, his face oddly blank of expression.

Alfred watched him for a minute, curious. He observed silently, then looked to the rabbits, and back to Arthur. "…Why don't you hold one too, then?" He asked after a time.

"Hm?" Arthur looked up at him, seeming to have forgotten the American was there at all while he was thinking back on his early years.

"The bunnies. Why don't you hold one?"

Arthur looked the rabbits over. "I suppose I could."

"Oh! Let me pick one for you!" Alfred asked (demanded) excitedly. He set the rabbit he was holding back into the pen, and scrutinized the whole lot. After a moment of deliberation, he plucked out the smallest one- A tiny thing with snowy fur, short ears that stuck straight up, and large brown eyes, which had been huddled into a corner of the pen away from the others.

Arthur laughed as the rabbit was handed off to him, cradling it in the crook of one arm so as to pet it with his free hand. "Funny you should pull out this one from the entire bunch."

"Yeah?" Alfred tilted his head a little, curiously. "Why?"

"Do you know what this particular breed is called at your place?" Alfred shook his head, and Arthur continued, "It's referred to as 'Britannia Petite'. They came from England. We call them 'Polish' in my country, but when they were brought to America, you already had a breed by that name, so your people called them 'Britannia Petite' instead." He smiled as he looked at the little animal, rubbing one of its ears while it sniffed at his clothes.

"…_Damn_ I'm awesome!" Alfred congratulated himself, "What a good call! I just grabbed it because it's small and was sittin' there all by itself- Like you. "

Arthur scowled and kicked him in the calf, careful not to jostle the bunny.

"Ow! What was that for?! It's not my fault you're an island nation!"

"No, but it's your fault you're an imbecile."

"Tsk.. Jeez, lighten up; It was just a joke."- That was a bit of a lie, as he _had_ selected the rabbit for just the reasons he'd said. He watched Arthur wearily, prepared for a second attack, but Arthur seemed placated, holding the bunny up nearer his neck so he could nuzzle it's soft fur, wearing a content smile. "You should keep it."

"What?" Arthur glanced at him.

"You should keep it." He repeated, gesturing to the animal, "You like it, and it looks cute with you, y'know?"

Arthur held the white pet away from himself a little, looking it over. "Why would I keep a pet knowing it's going to die in a few years?"

"Why not? Humans do it. Germany has dogs, and Switzerland has those creepy goats. You'll get to enjoy it while you can, and when it dies, you'll have the satisfaction of knowing you gave it a good, happy life."

Arthur pulled it back against his chest, running his hand over its back. "I don't have the time to-"

"Bunnies don't take a lot of time to take care of."

"Still…" Arthur looked at the animal intently while it mouthed his shirt- His resolve was obviously cracking.

"C'm_ooooon_~" Alfred goaded, sensing imminent victory, "You know you want to~ Just look at it's pleading little eyes! It _wants_ you to take it home!"

Arthur was silent for a while, watching the little creature and debating. Then, he sighed deeply and shook his head. "…I can't see what it would hurt, really. Fine; I'll keep it. But you're carrying the supplies back to the car."

"Awesome! I'll go get all the stuff!" Alfred, pleased with himself, skipped off to gather all the necessities, seemingly unaware that he'd just been duped into manual labor as if Arthur was doing _him_ a favor by agreeing to buy the rabbit.

Arthur sighed again and followed after him as Alfred gathered together food, toys, dishes, a bag of shredded paper bedding, a small wooden hutch, a litter pan**(1)**, and piled everything but the bedding into a small cage ("We'll get a bigger one when we get back to your place; This will be easier to travel with"). They brought everything to check-out, where the cashier informed them that the rabbit was a female, paid for the whole lot, then vacated the store. Arthur carried the bunny in a small ventilated box, Alfred the supplies, and they made the relatively shot trek back to where they'd abandoned Arthur's car earlier.

When they reached the vehicle, Alfred deposited his burden into the back seat, took the rabbit (Because Arthur refused to let him drive), and climbed into the front. Arthur shortly followed, and they began the trip back to the castle.

"So, Artie. What're ya gunna call her?" Alfred asked, opening the cardboard box so he could pet the 'her' in question, "And if you say 'Elizabeth', I swear I'll name her myself."

Arthur glared at him before returning his eyes to the road. "I wasn't _planning_ on naming her Elizabeth, great name though it may be." He thought for a moment, then shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know, really. Guinevere?"

"No way. Too old-fashioned. How about… Lil' Diva Starshine?"

"_Absolutely not_."

"Brandi?"

"Are we to _drink_ her, then?"

"Fluffy? Angel? Princess?"

"Too common."

"… Isabelle?"

"That's _French_. Are you trying to curse her?"

"Fine! _You_ come up with one, then."

"… Winifred."

"Get your brain in this century, dude, seriously. Though…" Alfred watched the little white darling chew at a corner of the box. "_Winnie_ is cute. Like Winnie the Pooh."

"Or short for Winter." Arthur gave the rabbit a short look, "Winter would suit her, blatantly. And it's not horribly commonplace."

"Winnie, short for Winter, huh?" Alfred contemplated it. "I like it."

"Winter it is, then."

"What'cha think of that, Winnie? Hm?" Alfred cooed at the freshly-named animal, making kissy faces at her.

She paused in her destruction of cardboard to stare at him like he had six heads.

"She likes it!" Alfred proclaimed happily, oblivious that Winter quite plainly thought he was off his rocker.

It took them a few more minutes to reach the castle. They parked, brought all their things up to their room (after a bit of a tiff with Alis, who was less than pleased that they were bringing an animal into the hotel), and set Winter up in her cage. They played with her and generally fawned over her sheer adorableness for a few minutes, like new parents, then went back to the car (leaving the room lights on so the little furball wouldn't be left in the dark) to head to the pub, as their hour of brother-free time was well up by then.

It didn't take them long to reach their destination: A decently sized but modest pub in the eastern part of the town. They left the car in the parking lot and entered through the single door in front.

Alfred nearly choked on the immediate assault on his sinuses upon stepping in. The air was thick with smoke, a stark contrast to having been outside all day, burning his eyes and nostrils. The stench of booze was so strong that he could almost _taste_ the burn of alcohol just by breathing. His ears were filled with a cacophony of loud voices, boisterous laughter, and the clinking of glasses, which were fighting a harsh battle for dominance with up-beat rock music. The lights were turned down low for ambience, with only a single large window to the whole place, near the front door. The floor was some kind of dark hardwood, and sticky in places, the walls some shade light shade of brown that was being taken over en-mass by an army of posters, photos framed and unframed alike, and probably-stolen road signs.

The interior looked something of a grungy bar-club-hybrid. On one end was the actual bar counter, lined with stools, behind which were the tall racks of alcohol and glasses. There were two bartenders there, one male and one female, seeing to the people that were seated in their immediate vicinity. Near the bar were small tables set up, with a waitress running between them and serving up pints or plates of bar grub. To the left side of the bar, directly across from the door they'd just come through, was a pool table, a game in progress. There were more tables set up along the walls, but there was a large gap of floor between the two sides, serving as a dance floor in front of the small, low stage at the far end, upon which a young local band was performing.

The place was pretty packed; All of the stools at the bar, as well as most of the tables, were filled with people of all (legal) ages, laughing and drinking together. The band seemed to be fairly popular, judging by the decently sized group of people, mostly younger women, crowded up to the stage, bouncing, dancing, and hollering (well, the men were hollering. The girls were more like squealing, for the most part) along with the songs being played.

The Alfred's displeasure, Arthur didn't even blink with the change of toxin content to the atmosphere; He just stopped near the door for a short second and searched the room, then turned and moved in the direction of the stage, Alfred close behind, to where his brothers were seated at a table, apparently hitting on another waitress.

"Oi, pricks. Stop trying to bed the help. Remember what happened _last_ time?" Arthur announced their arrival as he plopped into a chair, making a request to the waitress and then shooing her on her way.

"Don't be a cock-blocker, Little Brother. That girl dropped the charges anyway." Marc huffed.

"Her husband _did_ land ya' with a good left hook though." Angus laughed.

"What the hell took ya' so long, anyway? You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago."

"We got a rabbit!" Alfred told them happily as he took his seat, "We had to get her set up back at the room before we came."

"Rabbit? Y'gunna make stew?" Angus asked, taking a gulp from his pint of beer.

"_No_." Arthur told him, "She's a pet, not supper."

"_Awww_, how sweet! You got a pet together so's to add to the marital bliss!" Marc cackled, sparking laughter from Angus as well.

"_We're __**not**__ married_!" The blondes yelled together, Arthur slamming his hands on the table.

"Puh-_lease_. Going off on a romantic get-away to a castle, _alone_." Marc pointed out.

"Buying pets together." Angus added.

"It's not _romantic_! I brought him here to _scare_ him! And we didn't buy the rabbit _together_!" Arthur denied indignantly, "I mean- Yes, we _bought_ her together, a-and I suppose we _did_ name her together-" The brothers laughed even louder, and Arthur continued over them, raising his voice a level as well, "-But she's not _ours_!"

"Certainly sounds like it to me, lad." Angus teased, grinning.

Luckily, the waitress returned just in the nick of time, handing out full pints to everyone at the table. Arthur slammed down nearly half of his right off the bat, and told the girl that they'd be needing a round of shots as well, deciding that if he was to get through the evening with his brothers, he'd better be well liquored up.

~*~

* * *

**(1)** In case some of you don't know, rabbits are very smart, and naturally clean animals. Very often, if you have a pet rabbit, they'll pick a specific part of their cage or hutch to use as their toilet area (usually a corner). This being the case, they're not much harder than cats to litter train. You can buy litter pans for them and have it in their cage/hutch/whatever, and can even have one to put somewhere in your house or room so that they can use it while you have them out running around.

There isn't a real reason for them to have gotten a rabbit at all. It just sort of happened. My own rabbit, Laramie, had gotten an infection recently and gave me an awful scare, so I've been thinking about her a lot, and it sort of bled into the fic. She's half Britannia Petite, coincidentally. xD

My excuse is that picking out and naming animals together is good bonding. My family tends to have a lot of critters at any given time (right now we have 5 dogs, 3 cats, and my rabbit. It's actually an extremely low number of animals for us. Our record is 27, which included 7 dogs, 14 cats, 2 rabbits, 3 rats, and a fish. No, we do not own a farm. xD), and if they aren't specifically MY pet, we always have a grand ol' time pissing eachother off for a few hours arguing over names until we settle on one we all like. Which REALLY means, until my mom and I are done haggling over it, because mostly, we're the ones that come up with all the proposed names, and everyone else just gives their opinions on the ones we come up with, recognizing that it'll be one of us who picks the name in the end anyway.

Sorry. That was a pointless rant. I _love_ animals, especially mine, so I get carried away. Beg pardon. xD

* * *

~*~  
-

"Aggh.. Bloody fuck, tha' _stings_." Arthur sucked on his swollen lower lip, trying to ease the tinge of pain brought on by drinking hard liquor with a split lip.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't be drinking 151 proof **(1)** rum, then, y'think?" Alfred laughed, taking a gulp of his fifth pint, "Or at least not had so many shots of it."

"Bah! Nonsense!" Angus waved his free hand dismissively, "It'll keep the wound from festering!" He finished off his drink with an appreciative sigh and slammed the empty mug on the table to join its impressive number of brethren cluttering the table-top.

"Ah, but it _hurts_." Arthur whined a bit, but it didn't stop him from accepting another shot when the waitress came to clear the table of empty glasses.

It was nearing on ten o'clock, and the quartet had been drinking persistently since they'd arrived near six-thirty. Alfred's head was swimming pleasantly, and he'd consumed significantly less of the toxin than his fellows. He'd felt pretty reluctant to be around a drinking Arthur, at first, as that usually led to an expansive and detailed bitch-fest on the Brit's part about what a horrible ungrateful little brother he had, but apparently the effect was well curbed by the added company of his brothers. He still wasn't exactly a pleasant drunk- Oh no. He was very belligerent, having very nearly instigated several fights with the locals with comments about how "Tha' bloke's a fuckin' nancy" and "Cor blimey, I'n't that woman an absolute _dog_?", but they'd somehow managed to avoid either a fight or getting kicked out of the establishment, and Alfred was rather enjoying not being on the receiving end of Arthur's drunken irritation.

He did not, however, enjoy the way Arthur had been laying on the charm with any girl who got near enough the table to catch his line of vision. It was a little impressive, actually, the way he'd grin roguishly and murmur at them, making them giggle and blush until their friends would whisk them away again or Marc or Angus would say something to offend them, and all three of the Europeans would go into laughing about it together. But that didn't mean he liked it.

"It's tradition!" Angus had explained to Alfred, "Whenever we three drink together, we see which of us can get more lovely lasses interested, and how long it takes the other two of us to chase her away again! Great fun. You should play with us!"

And Alfred did indeed play, in that he did his best to give any girl who approached the table reason to leave. It wasn't too difficult, though; He had an excuse to do it, after all, and with Marc and Angus providing seriously effective back-up when a girl showed any interest in Arthur, they'd all been effectively turned away in a matter of minutes until Marc had managed to try and pick up a married woman who was there with her husband, and they decided it was best to leave the game off until next time.

Alfred was still a little peeved, tough. He'd never had to witness three women hanging off Arthur at once before tonight, and he certainly hoped he'd never have to again. It just wasn't proper! What on earth was Arthur thinking, giving away his attention to a gaggle of obvious floozies when The Hero was _right_ there?! It's absurd. Alfred's too amazing to be ignored in favor of a few sets of (admittedly very nice) breasts.

"Oi, Al!"

Alfred was shaken from his mental hissy fit when Marc shoved a shot of what he suspected was whiskey into his hands. He looked dumbly at the glass, then to Marc. "What?"

"Pay attention, twit." Arthur elbowed him none-too-gently, grinning. "We're having a toast!" He announced as he stood, swaying just the slightest bit, as if he had more people to address than the other three at the table.

"A toast!" Angus and Marc cheered back.

"A toast to what?" Alfred asked, raising his glass when the other three did all the same.

There was a pause.

"…Well, I don't know." Arthur admitted, apparently having wanted a toast just for the sake of it.

"To… uh, what great buddies we all are!" Marc suggested proudly.

"Right! Even though I hate the lot of you buggers. There are good ships, and there are wood ships, the ships that sail the sea, but the best ships are friendships. So 'Ere's to you, and 'ere's to me; Great friends may we always be. But if, by chance, we disagree… Then fuck you all, and here's to me!" Arthur cackled, raising his glass higher.

"Cheers!" They all yelled loudly, laughing before they slammed back their drinks.

Arthur bowed, then dropped back into his chair gracelessly, still laughing. "Oi… I wish they'd had the first band stay all night. This one's lead is shit." He commented, kicking his booted feet up on the table.

"Ah!" Marc sat up straight suddenly, snapping his fingers. "That reminds me! We got you a present today, Little England!"

"Oh, _Christ_." Arthur groaned, "I don't want any 'presents' from you wankers, after last time with that fuckin' tarantula."

"_Tarantula_?!" Alfred asked, looking horrified, "…Why didn't I think of that?!"

"Ach, you'll like this one." Angus assured with a grin.

"Bollocks. Why'n th' hell would you fuckers get me anything that wouldn't try to bite me or blow up in my face?"

"It's for your birthday!" Marc told him, smiling.

"You don't even know when my birthday _is_."

"Neither do you." Alfred laughed, "You're too old to remember it anymore!"

"Yeah, so just shut your gob and appreciate your amazing big brothers! Anyway, it's out in the car, so I'll get it." Marc hefted himself up from the table and weaved his way through the other occupants of the pub to get through the front door.

"Agggghh…" Arthur moaned again, and Alfred threw an am around his shoulders encouragingly.

"Don't worry, Artie! It can't be anything that bad, or else they wouldn't be able to give it to you in a crowded place like this!"

"You obviously don't know them well enough." He grumbled.

"Nothin' to worry about, England!" Angus told him, "This is actually a favor for Al here, not for you, so the usual rules of trying to cause bodily harm doesn't apply!"

Arthur was prepared to ask what the hell his brother was talking about when arc re-appeared, carrying a tall, slender package wrapped in newspapers which he hefted up onto the table. "There ya' go! Open it and be awed by our thoughtfulness, jackass!"

Arthur sighed warily, then pealed the paper away to reveal a black case, which he stared at, unwilling to open in case there should be something potentially dangerous inside, until Alfred, being the impatient man that he is, fumbled with the clasps on the front and threw the lid open himself.

Resting inside the fitted cushioning was a Fender Aerodyne Stratocaster, colored a deep red that gave off the look of crushed velvet, a set of picks, and a guitar strap printed with the union jack. The guitar gleamed pleasantly in the low lighting, looking out of place against the backdrop of a busy Welsh pub.

Arthur eyed it like he suspected it would detonate at any second, but couldn't help trailing a finger carefully over the body. "...You got me and electric guitar." It was a statement, not a question, "So how exactly is this a favor for Alfred? And what did you do to it?"

"Nothin'!" Marc said huffily, crossing his arms over his chest, "Would we destroy a perfectly good instrument?"

"Probably, if it meant causing me grief."

"Well, we didn't do anything to it, so get over it already and say 'thank you'. We told Al here that you played when you were fussin' over yer stupid sewing earlier, an' he said he wouldn't believe it until he seen it. We didn't think you still had one around at your place, so we took the liberty of getting of getting' ya' a new one." Marc lied.

"Er… Well, I do have one at home somewhere, but.. If it _isn't_ rigged somehow, then, thank you…?"

"What're ya' waiting for then?" Alfred asked excitedly, "Play somethin'!"

Arthur scowled at him, for little reason other than needing to save face. "You wouldn't be able to hear it in here without an amplifier, idiot."

"There's an amp on stage, isn't there?" Marc asked in a tone that implied, 'Wow, you're a total unobservant dolt'.

"Yes, obviously, but it's not as if I'm going to stroll up there and demand the use of the band's equipment, jackass."

"Actually, that's taken care of. We did a bit of bribery earlier before you got here, and you're not only getting the use of the amp and the stage, but the band agreed to play a song with you! Aren't we just the greatest, most marvelous big brothers ever?" Marc said smugly, "Angus went to let them know you're ready for 'um."

The two blondes looked up in surprise to where Angus had been to find that he had, in fact, gotten up, and was having a conversation with the members of the band at that very moment. Arthur started wracking his brain for excuses.

"I doubt that they'll know any songs that I can play."

"Angus picked one that you know out earlier and checked with them." Marc countered easily.

"I don't know if this guitar is in tune."

"I tuned it before we bought it."

"You don't know how to tune a guitar."

"Okay, so I got one of the people at the shop to do it. Whatever, same thing."

"…I can't play when I'm drunk..?"

"Pfft! Please! You're drunk almost every time you play! Stop bullshitting, we've covered all our bases, jerk. We know what we're doin' when it comes to you, after all."

Arthur glared at him and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "No."

"What?! Arthur, _please_?" Alfred whined, latching himself to Arthur's shoulders.

"No! Get off me, fucker!" Arthur shoved at him, irritated, but Alfred wouldn't budge.

"_Pretty please_?" Alfred gave his best kicked puppy look.

"_No_!"

"What's the matter, England? Don't think you can? Afraid you'll embarrass yourself? Hm?" Marc prodded obnoxiously.

"..The fuck did you just say?"

"You heard me." Marc grinned, knowing he'd just won the argument. Drunk Arthur is _so_ easy.

"That's rubbish and you know it." Arthur stood in challenged, dislodging Alfred from himself.

"Get up there and play us the song then."

"…One song."

"Yep, just one. Even though I'm sure you'll wish they knew more once you get up there; You're such an attention whore on stage."

"….Fine."

Alfred whooped and pumped a fist as Arthur snatched up the guitar and a pick, spun on his heals, and stomped over to where Angus had the band engaged. There was a short conversation, then the band's lead man got up to the microphone, and addressed the crowd in welsh. There was a round of confused murmuring through the bar, and reluctant half-hearted applause, before he left the stage again. As soon as he stepped down, Arthur, followed by the other band members, stepped up.

Arthur hooked the strap to his guitar and plugged it into the designated amplifier while the band members got themselves situated, giving it a few experimental plucks with a determined look about him. Satisfied, he looked to the band and said something to them, then stepped up to the microphone and gave a short hand signal.

All of the lights in the pub bar the spotlights for the stage were flipped off, forcing everyone's attention to the far end of the room. There was dead silence through the room. The drummer did the customary four count with his sticks, and the Englishman closed his eyes.

After the last count sounded, Arthur started strumming the guitar, his hips swaying a bit while he tapped a beat with one of his foot. When his eyes snapped open again, they were glittering, and a mischievous smile had made its way to his face. He leaned close to the microphone, and sang lowly, almost in a drawl:

"_Well, jus' because she feeds me well, 'n she made me talk dir'y in a pink hotel-_" The rest of the band exploded behind him, and he opened his throat, his voice seeming to tear itself from his vocal cords, "It doesn't mean she's got eyes for me! She jus' might want my bones, y'see! And hey, Flathead, don' you get mean, she's the second best killer that I e're have seen! _They don't come much more sick than you_! _I could go on if you want me too_! It's just so wrong, so very nice, an' I told you once, an' ya' killed me twice- Saw you one time on the back of the club! Chewing on glass and a ticket stub! Said, 'I heard you kicked th' boy 'till he bled', then you stood and said, 'Oh my God' 'till she said-"

The band cut in, singing together, "Bada-bap, pada-da-da! Badada da-da-da-da-da! Bada-bap, pada-da-da-da!" **(2)**

Alfred's jaw about hit the table from the energy Arthur seemed to have drawn up out of nowhere, spurring the crowd in the bar to cheer and dance, bellowing their encouragements. He would have been able to gather his wits, if not for the way Arthur started bouncing on the balls of his feet and jerking his hips from side to side with the music while he played, grinning wide to show his teeth as he belted out lyrics. He was performing with all of the enthusiasm and charisma of a seasoned professional, looking for all the world like he'd been born on that little pub stage and had been doing just this every day of his life. It was absurd, his crotchety ol' England riling a bar full of people like this, bending the entire room's energy with him.

"Almost makes ya' forget what a lame-ass he is, dun'nt it?"

Alfred jumped just a little, obviously having forgotten for a moment that Marc was right beside him. Angus had made his way back as well, and was on his other side, smiling like he knew something Alfred didn't.

"Uh.. No." Alfred fibbed, "I mean, y'know. It's- … Yeah, okay. I guess it kinda does."

"You shoulda seen 'im in the seventies, runnin' around the London underground lookin' like his clothes had gone through a wood chipper, green streaks in his hair an' a buncha holes poked in 'im."

"He kept havin' to avoid his boss." Angus laughed, "None of the higher-ups of society were keen on the punk wave _at all_, but Lil' England couldn't help but get swept up in it. After bein' all that he has, it's real hard to rope yourself in to being proper and respectable, so when punk started catchin' like wildfire, he couldn't do anything but burn in it."

Alfred stared at the nation on the stage, wondering how in the fuck he could have missed that. Now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure he could remember Arthur skipping out on a lot of meetings around that time… He'd just thought that Arthur'd been sick or something! Jesus, did everyone get to experience a more badass England except for him?!

When the song was finished, the people applauded and hollered, thrilled with the brief show. Arthur stepped off the stage to be nearly bombarded with a flock of them, singing his praises, and Alfred had to shove his way through the obstructing bodies in order to retrieve him. When he finally managed to pry Arthur away from them and get him back to the table, shooing off the more persistent fans, the island nation's face was split with a smile.

"I really _should_ do that more often." He mused, tucking the guitar back into its case and snapping it closed, then setting it under the table so he could send for another round of shots.

"Now, see? I told ya' you'd want to keep going once you got up there, didn't I?"

"Stuff it, tosser, no one asked you."

Alfred smiled broadly and pulled Arthur against his side in a one-armed hug. "Christ, Artie, that was pretty good! I didn't know you could do that."

"I told you, git: There's a lot of things about me that'd surprise you." Arthur told him smugly.

It took them another hour to get through all of the free drinks people kept having sent to them, slamming down shot after shot courtesy of impressed townspeople. Somewhere along the line, Alfred had to wonder how in the hell Arthur thought they were going to get back to the castle. Arthur was now very seriously under the influence, singing bar songs with his brothers loudly, spilling his drinks, and was very hardly able to stand without support- Which Alfred seemed to be providing a lot of, even though he was pretty unstable himself. The glossy, green-eyed nation kept an arm slung around the American's neck consistently, leaning on him heavily while they all cracked jokes and drank like fish. Their waitress, bless her, kept bringing them pitchers of water and insisting they drink that, too, to help keep them from dehydrating and stave off their imminent and very probable hangovers.

After a while, they even started socializing with some of the locals, playing small drinking games with them and swapping stories (to Alfred's pleasant surprise, almost all of them actually spoke English. If he'd been paying more attention, he probably would have noticed earlier), buying rounds for each other the whole way. As it turns out, the two blondes made an absolutely phenomenal team in Libya **(3)**, and unfortunately, their good aim also made for a lot of two-pence pieces landed in the tall center glass during Chandeliers. **(4)**

They were having such a fabulous time that they ended up staying until Angus won a game of Beat the Barman.**(5) **They stumbled into the parking lot while the pub was locked up for the night, Arthur and Alfred clinging to each other and laughing as they managed to trip on absolutely nothing. They exchanged good-byes with some of the men they'd been drinking with, as well as Marc and Angus, who they didn't suppose they'd be seeing the following day. When they managed to make their way to Arthur's car, there was a small argument over who'd be driving, coming out in Arthur's favor because, although he'd drank significantly more, Alfred would most assuredly try to drive on the wrong side of the road, and probably didn't know the way back anyhow. There was an epic battle between Arthur, his car keys, and the locks on the door before he remembered there was an automatic device on his keychain for just such an occasion, and Alfred laughed until he cried, Arthur swearing at him the whole time.

Graciously, they made it back to their room all in one piece, without even a solitary encounter of unpleasantness along the way bar an incident of nearly running over a raccoon that had ran across the road. They startled poor Winter something awful when they'd nearly fallen over one another getting in through the door, cackling companionably over the look that'd been on that coon's face when it realized it escaped an early death by a faction of an inch (even though they'd both nearly been in hysterics over almost crushing the defenseless thing under a ton of metal when it had happened).

"Ahaha! Ah, Jesus, Artie. What an awesome day! Who knew you could be so much fun, huh?" Alfred laughed as he fell onto Arthur's bed, wrestling off his shoes.

Arthur scoffed, kicking off his own shoes and socks, "Everybody but you. And Russia; I don't party with that creeper." He tried to work himself out of his shirt, only to get himself tangled in it.

"Dude, getting drunk with Russia would be a death wish. You'd wake up '_one_ with him'." He laughed appreciatively and grabbed Arthur by the loops of his pants, pulling him over. "No, no. Here, man, hold on- I'll help." He yanked the smaller man directly into his lap, Arthur making a startled yelp.

"I can do it myself, fucker, lemme alone!" He struggled, getting himself absolutely nowhere.

"No, just- Hold _still_, I'll get it if you stop movin' around." He sniggered, prying Arthur out of the shirt when he finally seen fit to stop wriggling, tossing the article away. "See! America: one, Shirt: zero! Damn, I'm so great."

"You're a twat, I could have done it. Why the hell are you on my bed?" He asked blearily while he rolled out of the American's lap and proceeded to squirm out of his jeans.

"'Cus I'm sleeping with you. For your own safety. There's still all them ghosties runnin' around, and I'm the hero! So I have to, y'know… protect you and shit." Alfred shrugged off his jacket and pulled his own shirt over his head, somehow managing not to take his glasses along with it. "Why're _you_ stripping?"

"Why the fuck're you?" Arthur won the war with his pants and rolled off the side of the bed with a thump, now on a quest to find his pajama pants (which were tasteful, respectable, and covered with little shamrocks along with repetitions of the words "lucky you").

"I'm gettin' ready for bed, duh." He wrangled himself out of his own jeans, and deemed himself perfectly able to just sleep in his batman boxers.

"Well, there ya' go. Idiot." Arthur found and pulled on his pajama bottoms, then clawed his way back onto the bed.

"Well, y'know. Being such a prude, I didn't think you'd start pulling your clothes off right in front of me." Alfred laughed.

"Pfft. Prude? You don't read the news very often, do you?" **(6)**

"No, why?"

"Nothin', Never mind. Go turn off the light, twit." Arthur crawled under the blankets and got himself situated.

Alfred stumbled across the room and hit the lights (smashing his toes on the rabbit cage on his way back, making Arthur laugh), set his glasses on the bedside table, then clambered into the Brit's bed with him, snuggling under the sheets.

"You smell like an ashtray."

"So d' you."

"If you do, I suppose I probably would as well. What with being in the same place all night and all."

"Shut up."

"_You_ shut up. Go to sleep, tosser, we'll shower in the morning."

"Fine. 'Night, Artie."

"Goodnight."

~*~

* * *

**(1)** 151 proof liquor, in case you don't know, has an alcohol content of 75.5%. Your standard vodka only contains about 50%, beer only usually around 4% or 5%. In other words, this shit will fuck you up.

**(2) **Everyone should know this one by now. Flathead, by The Fratellis. The Fratellis are from Glasgow, Scotland.

**(3)** These next three are drinking games, which I will briefly explain for anyone unfamiliar with them. Libya is something like beer pong. There are specific formations you set the cups in, and you play in teams. When you land your ball in a cup, someone from the other team has to drink the contents of that cup. After a cup has been hit, you re-arrange the remaining cups into the next formation. The team that drinks their cups first loses and then has to also drink the other team's remaining cups.

**(4) **In Chandeliers, you basically sit around a table, and each person has a glass of the same size full of alcohol in front of them, and there's a really tall glass of alcohol in the center of the table. You go around the circle, and everyone tries to flip the coin into a glass. If it lands in someone's glass, they have to drink from it (an amount of their own choice). If it lands in the center cup, the whole table has to engage in a chugging contest. As soon as the coin gets into the center glass, everyone grabs their drink and finishes it as fast as they can, and the person who finishes last also has to chug the tall glass.

**(5) **Beat the Barman is a really simple go up to the bar (try not to do this on a busy night), and order a shot of liquor. You give them too much money for the drink (as in, giving a $5 bill for a $2 drink), and when they go to get your change, you slam your shot. When they return with your change, you repeat the process. If the drinker falls over, the bar wins. If the barman punches the drinker, or kicks the drinker out of the bar, it's a draw. If the bar closes and neither of those other three things has occurred, the drinker wins.

**(6) **This is a reference to the all-too-common strange sex scandals that appear in the news, courtesy of the citizens of the UK. =p

* * *

~*~

**  
*LITTLE FLUFFY BONUS SCENE FOR THE AUTHOR'S PERSONAL ENJOYMENT*  
(And in attempt to make reparations for an uninspired chapter)**

Alfred's hero senses slapped him awake mercilessly at four thirty-seven in the morning.

The room was nearly black, the only light a narrow green gleam from the alarm clock Arthur had set up on the side-table some time on their first day in the castle, which cast an eerie glow over everything within three feet. It was quiet, but not silent; Winter was making small scratching noises in her cage, and, listening carefully, the intake and expulsion of air from both of the nations' lungs could be heard. They had only been in bed for a scant couple hours, and Alfred's head still reeled in a toxic haze, making his movements seem exaggerated and far too quick when he shifted to prop himself up a little, resulting in a moment of vague dizziness before the room stopped spinning around him.

Okay, so if he wanted to be totally honest with himself (which he didn't, by the way), it wasn't his 'hero senses' that had dragged him from the depths of sleep-land at all, but rather the small jerks and twitches of his bed-mate.

Now, he'd slept in the same bed with Arthur a million times, and had never much known him to move around while unconscious. Alfred himself was rather notorious for it; He was very prone to not only rolling around, but also to clinging, tangling sheets, and occasionally, outright flailing. He did much better with most of these things when there was someone else in bed with him, but he hadn't gotten away without a reputation for, rarely, gifting someone a bruise in the shin or an elbow to the ribs. Arthur, though, didn't often do so much as roll over in place, and, more frequently than not, would wake in almost exactly the same position he'd fallen asleep in. Squinting in the darkness, with the added inconvenience of his less-than-perfect eyesight without his glasses, Alfred leaned over the smaller man closely to get a decent look at him.

Arthur was curled on his side, face tense, with eyes flickering rapidly behind their lids as his swollen lips moved in silent words. There was a glistening of cool sweat on his skin, making his bangs catch to his forehead, and the fingers of his left hand twisted into the pillow case where it rested near his chin.

Alfred frowned, concerned, and set a hand tentatively on Arthur's shoulder. "Hey..." He called to the sleeping nation softly, "Hey, England. Y' alright?"

Arthur twitched and mumbled something incoherent, but showed no sign of waking. After a moment, Alfred gave his shoulder a small shake, saying his name again a touch more loudly.

"Idiot," Arthur murmured, only just hardly audible, "As if I… Could shoot."

Alfred drew back with a sigh, shaking his head just a bit. It figured; Arthur had never once been drunk around him without eventually thinking of _that_. Evidently, being asleep didn't exempt him from it.

With a rueful smile, Alfred settled back down into the bed, scooting up closer to the other body. He lay on his side to face the Englishman and gathered him up, drawing Arthur close to his chest. Holding him in place with one arm, he used his free hand to gently brush Arthur's hair from his face, pressing a genial, tender kiss to his forehead in his fingers' wake. "Arthur, you're okay." He told the sleeping nation soothingly, "I've got'cha. S'just a nightmare."

Arthur made something grumble, burying his face under the American's chin. With a small smile, Alfred ran his fingers through damp, honey-colored hair, speaking calmingly in a low tone until Arthur seemed placated. Feeling pleased with his adequate divulgence of minor heroism, Alfred shuffled a tad to get comfortable and drifted back to sleep.

-

* * *

**A/N**: Wellp, there ya go. I hope it wasn't, like, unbearably horrible.

I really don't like this one, can you tell?

But, it's done now, and if I'm lucky, you guys'll appreciate it more than I do.

Puh-_lease _please please **review**. See how nice I ask? This story is on more alert lists right now than I could possibly keep track of, and has been favorited a thousand times over, and while I certainly appreciate that, I like feedback a lot better. :3

Also, I'm going to try and re-do the summary for this story, because it doesn't quite fit right anymore. Sadly, I'm absolutely horrible at summaries, especially when I have to condense it so much for the small amount of space given for it. If anyone's got a suggestion for that, please do let me know.

Oh! I almost forgot. _**I do not condone driving under the influence**._ I won't go into a big rant or anything, just know that it's an awful, horrible, totally atrocious idea and you should never do it, ever.


	6. Punk

**A/N**: Okay, this is the chapter that I started and then had to set aside in order to do the last one. xD I promised it'd still be used, and here it is.

So, we're going to have appearances from some other nations in this chapter, and you're going to have to excuse the foreign-language-abuse I'm sure to employ, because I'm on-and-off learning one of them and could use the practice anyway. I had to give one of them a name myself, because for some crazy reason he's apparently not cool enough to have one officially, and I don't want to go through calling them by their nation name when I'm not doing it with anyone else.

Lots of people to mention this time around:  
**Cheese-kun**, who expressed interest in more dancing Iggy's.  
**AuraBlackWolf**, for drawing like a billion fanart pictures for this story! You can see them on her deviantart page, which you can find a link to in her profile.  
**Sakerat**, who like, totally called me on the theme of this chapter right when I started writing it. xD  
**Just Another FMA Fan**, who doesn't actually have an account on FF, which totally frustrates me! You keep leaving me all these great reviews, and I always want to reply to them, but I _can't_! Register to the site, for my sanity! I beg of you!

I.. think that's it. I think. In other news, this story has hit **over 100 reviews**, so thank you all _SO_ much! I love you! I'm thinking about doing a kiriban; If I do, what review number should I do it for?

**EDIT**: Sososo, Okay, a few of you totally awesome people decided to take the time and help correct my German, so thanks VERY much, I really appreciate it. I promised everyone who helped out on that that I'd be going through and making the corrections as soon as I'd rested, and I have, so off I go!

* * *

-

Alfred and Arthur had slept well into the afternoon the day following their evening spent boozing it up in Wales. When they'd finally managed to rouse themselves from bed, they checked out of the castle, piled into Arthur's car with all of their things, and made the generally uneventful journey home.

They'd reached London by early evening, and had spent the rest of their night watching the videos they'd taken and listening to tape in the hand-held recorder, which amounted to another night of bed-sharing for Alfred's benefit, to Arthur's moderate displeasure.

That had been yesterday.

Currently, Alfred was sprawled across his host's couch in his pajama pants and a plain tshirt, Winter curled in his lap, flipping through TV channels boredly while Arthur took a shower. It was about six o' clock, and England had been experiencing one of its reputed torrential downpours since early that morning, drowning the streets and preventing the nations from venturing out of the house (although that was more due to Alfred's unwillingness to go out in the weather than Arthur's; Like most Londoners, the Englishman had been undeterred by the rain and perfectly ready to hit the town). There wasn't a lot of wind, but rain pounded upon the rooftop of Arthur's house, and the interior was somewhat dark due to the lack of sunlight outside.

In comparison to their adventures at Ruthin Castle, it had been a very lackluster day; Full of nonsensical bickering, movies, and the total strangeness of British daytime television.

Alfred sighed and stopped on a channel playing a re-run of EastEnders **(1)**, wondering if perhaps he ought to start working on dinner, on account of the fact that he wouldn't put his stomach through the terrors of Arthur's (lack of) culinary skills. Maybe he'd whip them up some stew…

Arthur's phone, somewhere in the kitchen, started screaming about Scotland and some woman's eyeballs. Alfred glanced in its general direction, and when the cell continued to keen on, decided that he'd pick it up- In case it was Arthur's Boss or something. He hauled himself off the couch with a mighty effort, bringing the rabbit with him, located the phone, and flipped it open.

"Hey, what's up?" Alfred asked the party at the other end of the line.

"_Hallo_! This is His Supreme Awesomeness speaking, who the fuck are you and why are you answering _Augenbrauen_'s phone?"

"Prussia?"

"_Als ob, arschloch_! _**I**_ am the mighty _Königreich Preußen, _Seizer of Vital Regions. I asked who the fuck_ you _are."

"This is America."

"Oh, _der depp_? Where's _Vereinigtes Königreich_?"

"Er… What?"

"You know; UK. The dude whose calls you're taking. What are you, his secretary? Props to him if he's overthrown your rebelling ass again."

"Naw, Artie's in the shower. We're hangin' out, so-"

"Are you coming with us, then?"

"Going with who, where?"

"England and Denmark and me. Our routine Awesome Time is tonight, and since we trashed some bar over Den's place last time, it's London's turn to bear witness to our unholy glory."

"But doesn't it take a while to get here from.. uh, wherever it is you guys are?"

"No. We're at a swanky hotel Downtown right now, dumbass."

"You are?"

"_Gott_, I _just_ fucking said- Look, just tell Princess we're here when he's done primping, alright? Christ, what an awful secretary."

"I'm not-"

Alfred was cut off by the dial tone. With a shrug, he deposited the Nokia on the counter where he found it and returned to his place on the couch.

Fifteen minutes later, Arthur emerged from the bathroom with a cloud of steam, one towel wrapped firmly around his waist and another being used to ruffle his hair dry. His bruises and scrapes were already looking considerably better.

"Is it common English courtesy to stroll around wet and naked when there are guests in the house?" Alfred called to him from in front of the TV.

"You used to take baths with me. I think you can deal with it."

"Gilbert called; Said you had a man-date with him and Søren **(2) **tonight, and that I should tell you they're downtown when you were done 'primping'."

"Bollocks. I must have forgotten to tell them that- Who the hell told you to answer my mobile?"

"Well, nobody, but I thought I should get it in case it was your queen or your president or- You know, whoever it is."

"I don't _have_ a president, gitface; I have a prime minister."

"_Whatever_. Anyway, I figured that if it was your Boss, I should probably take a message or something."

"And you couldn't have checked the caller ID?"

"Uh…No?"

Arthur sighed and made his way to the kitchen to return Gilberts call. Alfred waited patiently for Arthur to tell them he couldn't make it so he could ask what he should make them for dinner. Now that he thought about it, maybe he would fry them up some chicken. Or something simple, like pasta, or-

"Oi, prick."

"Hmm?" Alfred looked up to find Arthur leaning over the back of the furniture.

"Get ready to go. They're on their way over, and then we're off."

"What?!" He twisted around to face Arthur properly, "You mean you're still goin' out with them?"

"_We're_ going out with them, yes."

"Why didn't you just tell them you couldn't?"

"Do you know how long it takes to get here from their respective places of residence?"

"Longer than it takes to get here from _my_ place?" He challenged.

"Stop acting like a jealous girlfriend who had her dinner-date called off; You can share me for one bleeding night. It'd be horribly rude to cancel when I was the one who failed to tell them you were going to be here."

"Who's fault is that, scatter-brain?"

"Shut it, fucker. I'm going to get dressed, and unless you'd rather go out looking like you just rolled out of bed, I suggest you do the same. Or you can just stay here alone, I don't care either way." With that, Arthur marched up the stairs to his bedroom.

Alfred grumbled, but put the bunny in her cage and followed Arthur's lead anyway; He didn't want to sit around Arthur's house all night by himself. Grudgingly, he half-stomped to his temporary bedroom to dig through his clothes. After several minutes of searching, he threw on a comfortable pair of dark blue-jeans, a powder blue tshirt that read 'All-American Hero' in red print, a plain, white zip-up hoodie (which he left open) and his favorite pair of sneakers.

Satisfied that he was properly equipped for wherever they might be going, he trudged back to the den in time to hear a knocking on the front door so thunderous that it could very well rival his own. He strolled over to open it, revealing Gilbert, his hand still poised to give the slab of wood a relentless beating, with Søren tapping a foot in impatience behind him. Before Alfred could so much as open his mouth in greeting, Gilbert shoved passed him into the house, the Dane brushing by right on his heels.

"See?" Gilbert asked, dropping himself into the nearest armchair and making himself comfortable, "I told you the kid **(3)** was playing receptionist. Not a very good one, either; He's way too flat-chested."

"At least he didn't hit you like _Storbritannien_ would'a." Søren pointed out, flopping onto the couch.

"You guys got here fast." Alfred closed the door and moved to take a seat next to Søren.

Søren snorted. "You ever been in a car with Gil behind the wheel?"

"Uh, no?"

"Prussia drives like a bat out of hell."

"Like an _awesome_ bat out of hell." Gilbert interjected.

"That bad, huh?"

"It's not actually legal for me to drive in this country." Gilbert said with a shrug, "Something about being a public endangerment or some shit, I don't fuckin' know. It doesn't matter though; The Awesome Me does whatever he fuckin' wants!"

"Except put your dirty shoes on your brother's living-room table."

"Yeah, except that. He's such a fuckin' tightass about that shit."

"So, uh… Why do you guys wanna hang out with England, anyway? Doesn't he, like.. Cramp your style? He's kind of a stick in the mud, most of the time" Alfred asked.

"Ha! Not when he's out with us, he's not. We'd have to kick him out of the crew if he tried to pull that 'oh, look at me, I'm a _gentleman_' shit while we made our rounds. His Awesomeness will not stand for a killjoy. That's why _Westen_ isn't allowed to tag along with us."

"Art just needs some of his fellow previous-conquerors to bring out the Empire in 'im! We haven't been to a place together yet that hasn't kicked us out." Søren said proudly with a big grin.

"And besides," Gilbert added, "Chicks fuckin' love that bastard."

Alfred laughed for nearly a solid two minutes before he realized the other two nations were staring at him like he was a few crayons short of a box. "… You're not kidding?"

"_Nej_." Søren half-shrugged in a 'nothing to be done about it' way.

"Obviously all the women are crazy to take that fairy-princess over a fine piece of ass like The Amazing Me, but when Arthur puts that face on and offers himself up on a dance floor, the bitches flock to him like… uh.."

"Moths to a bug-zapper?" Søren supplied helpfully with a laugh.

"England doesn't dance." Alfred told them matter-of-factly, "You should have seen the fight he put up when I tried to get him to dance with me."

"Maybe he won't dance with _you_, but when you have four girls with 'Tracks of Land' rivaling Ukraine's hangin' off your arms wantin' you to dance with them, you don't tell them no."

"Pfft. Yeah, okay. I totally believe you. Because England's _such_ a lovable ladies-man." Alfred scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"He doesn't try to be _lovable_. Dude struts around with this look that says, 'I'm that guy your daddy always warned you about, crowned prince of Whatever-The-Fuck-I-Want, and if you're really lucky, I'll let you bask in my paramount badassery before I rip your heart out of your chest and grind it under the heel of my boot'. Usually, at least. He mixes it up sometimes, depending."

"How long does it take that jackass to put some clothes on, anyway?" Gilbert asked impatiently, then cupped his hands around his mouth to yell: "Hey, Fergie!**(4) **Get your panzy-ass down here so we can leave!"

"I'm coming, arsehole!" Arthur hollered back shortly before exiting his room and descending the stairs, clad in grey-green camouflage print cargo pants slung low on his hips (giving a small glimpse of skin, including a section of that nice electric guitar ink), converse shoes, and a tight-fitting black shirt with 'Polite as fuck' scrawled across the front in curly calligraphic font.

"Finally! Let's get this show on the road!" Søren crowed happily as he launched of the couch, pumping a fist in the air.

"I'm driving!" Gilbert declared as he made for the door.

Alfred watched as they bolted out to a posh little rented sports car, then turned and quirked an eyebrow at Arthur. "…Fergie?"

"Don't ask."  
-

~*~

* * *

**(1)** EastEnders is a Brit soap opera that's been on air for, like, a billion years. I've never seen it; I only know of it from a song I like.

**(2)** Søren, in case you didn't gather, is the name I picked for Denmark. I'm fairly certain others have used it for him before as well. It's a Scandinavian name that means 'God of war'. I think it suits him.

**(3)** I imagine a lot of the older nations would call the younger ones by all sorts of diminutive names like 'kid'.

**(4)** A reference to London Bridge by that artist. I actually really have no idea how the idea that Prussia would use it as a pet-name weaseled into my brain, but it did, and so I went and listened to the song, and decided to go with it. xD It must be a nickname that's been in use for a while, else, one, Iggy wouldn't have answered to it, and two, it may well have started a brawl. So I figure at this point there's been several fights over it, and Arthur just decided to give up and accept it. xD

* * *

~*~  
-

"For fuck's sake, Gilbert, _watch out for the pedestrians_!" Arthur screamed from the back seat of the car, leaning forward and stretching his seatbelt so he could lean between the two front seats

"They're in the fucking street, they know the risk they're taking!" **(1)**

"If you hit so much as one of my stray cats, Gilbert, I'm going to smash your nose in on the fucking steering wheel!"

Alfred was torn between clutching the seat under him for dear life, and clamping his hands over his ears to block out the music pumping from the German metal CD in the stereo (and what the hell kind of a band name is 'Oomph!' anyway?). He settled on the former option when the albino floored it in response to Arthur's chastising. Søren was half hanging out of the passenger side window, whooping and hollering while they sped down the street.

They whipped into a fast-food drive-in, tires screeching, and the car blessedly came to a stop at the ordering station. Gilbert shut off the stereo, took everyone's orders and relayed them through the microphone, and Alfred's stomach was twisted so horribly from Gilbert's drag-race-worthy driving that he only ordered asked for three burgers and a coke. They pulled up to the next window, paid for and received their food, then parked in the car lot near the exit to eat because Gilbert didn't want anyone dumping their drinks while he careened through London streets.

Alfred ate his food with less reverence than he normally would, praying his stomach wouldn't force it all back up, disheartened by everyone else's lack of trauma from the dissolved nation's techniques behind the wheel. "_Bat out of hell my ass_," He thought, "_Even satanic flying rats move with more caution than this crazy fucker._"

They'd decided to grab some dinner before making their way to.. wherever it was they were going. Alfred sincerely wished Arthur would have just blown the other two off, extensive traveling or not; Sure, he'd been bored at Arthur's place, but at least he hadn't been _fearing for his existence_.

"Where is it we're headed, by the way?" Arthur asked between bites.

"Some club Gil seen on our way from the airport." Søren answered, taking a slurp of his drink.

"I thought we agreed that Gilbert wasn't allowed to select destinations anymore after we ended up in that fetish club?"

"_Fick dich, wichser_, I'll pick if I want to. Besides," Gilbert put on his trademark shit-eating grin, "You _liked_ that club."

Alfred choked on his bite of delicious burger, only _just_ managing to keep from spitting the mouthful all over the car's leather interior, and Arthur told him to learn to chew his food properly while he pounded on Alfred's back.

"It looked legit." Søren assured, "Way too close to a main road to be anything weird."

"Fine," Arthur conceded, "But we're leaving if it's strange."

"Only because you have a houseguest and wouldn't be able to bring home any freaky, barely-legal bitches that wanted you to tie them to your bedpost and-"

"That's quite enough, Gilbert."

Alfred had to smack his head on the window once or twice to dislodge the mental image, pressing his forearm under his nose in case those nosebleeds in all of Kiku's manga were actually physically possible.

He refused to let himself think about _why_ he needed to worry about the phenomenon, but was pleased to find there was no blood on the sleeve of his hoodie when he pulled it away from his face.

They got through their quick meal, dumped their garbage in a trash can ("_Rubbish bin_", Arthur had insisted), and then Gilbert had them rocketing down the road again.

Ten minutes later, when Alfred was almost dizzy from watching the scenery flash by the window, they located their destination: A fairy large two-story building of stone crammed between two other establishments. From the outside it looked pretty standard, with a set of tinted double glass doors in the front under the title 'Blackout'**(2)** in lilac colored neon lights. There was an almost consistent stream of people entering, and no bouncer stationed out front, marking that it wasn't an exclusive establishment.

They parked the car on the side of the road across the street, as there was no parking lot, and Alfred had never been happier to get out of a car in his life; He was almost tempted to kiss the pavement, but resisted the urge. They made their way across the road, thankful that not everyone drove with the same disregard to human life that Gilbert did, and entered the front of the club behind a group of girls that looked almost too young to be wearing their absurdly lacking clothing. Through the doors was a small landing, and stationed behind a little desk-like apparatus was a tall, muscular man, who checked their ID cards, accepted an admittance fee for the four of them, stamped each of their hands, and sent them on their way. 'Their way' was up a curved staircase lined with tall darkened windows, up to a second, even smaller landing, where there was a single metal door that they let themselves through.

The entrance allowed access to a large, open two-level room illuminated by strobes and rotating colored spotlights, saturated with a sweet, musky smell ("Nag Champa," Arthur told them, "An incense imported from India.") that very nearly covered the cigarette smoke. The first level wasn't large; The section they entered onto held only a short set of stairs down to the second level, and what seemed to be a coat-checking station. Across the room and to the left was another section, much more significantly sized, that boasted a bar highlighted by blacklights and an occupied DJ booth that was pumping out a bouncy pop song with a bass beat that made the floors vibrate, as well as a set of doors that presumably lead to bathrooms.

The lower level, which took up most of the space, was almost entirely tiled dance floor, loosely packed with writhing people. Along the left side were plush-looking booths to sit and rest or drink at, the right lined with a slightly raised platform displaying a set of widely spaced metal poles. To Gilbert's obvious disappointment, there were no strippers, but a few ballsy girls from the crowd would occasionally step up and make use of them, spinning around them in a fully amateur fashion, without many of the other club-goes stopping to pay them any mind.

Arthur lead the way down the steps without hesitation, cutting through the dance floor on the most direct route towards the bar instead or skirting the crowd like most people would think more logical, striding through confidently without concern for the dancers he disturbed along the way. A lot of heads turned; They would have been a conspicuous group even without cutting through the middle of the room, with three of them plainly being foreigners and one with platinum hair, but there was virtually no way to miss them now.

"Oh, jeez." Søren snickered near Alfred's ear, "He's already got the game face on."

They took up residence at the bar and got the attention of the barman, Alfred and Gilbert requesting beers, Søren a Screw-Driver (which got him a dirty look from Gilbert, not that the Dane cared **(3)**), and Arthur a rum and coke.

"So, how are we gunna tackle this venue?" Søren inquired.

Alfred quirked an eyebrow. "We need a game plan?"

"Of course we need a game plan, dumbass! If we don't work strategically, how the fuck are we supposed to give an adequate show of our awesome?"

"…What're you talking about?"

"It's a competition." Arthur told him, taking a sip of his drink.

"A multi-part showdown." Søren added.

"How do you get a competition out of a night club?"

"Fuck, I hate new players." Gilbert rolled his eyes dramatically, "We lay out a few categories, and try to beat each other out."

"I love a good challenge!" Alfred smiled broadly, excited at the prospect, "How do you win?"

"More or less by coming out with the least damage at the end of the night. It's really a very stupid game; We wouldn't play at all if Gilbert didn't need to make a battle out of everything." Arthur sighed.

"Fuck you, it's great game!" Gilbert exclaimed and slammed a hand on the bar counter, then turned to Alfred to explain the 'rules', "Section one: Booze! This one's the easiest. An endurance test; Who can drink the most by the end of the night without puking or falling over. The catch is that you have to pace yourself, or else you can have problems with the other segments. Section two: Brawls! You cause as many arguments as you can without getting into a real fight yourself. If someone takes a swing at you, it doesn't count. It's a little more tricky, since you gotta try not to be _directly_ involved."

"So you want to get other people to fight with _each other_." Søren specified, "How you do that is up to you."

"Section three:" Gilbert continued, "Babes! This one's my favorite. You gotta get digits- As many phone numbers as possible, from as many chicks as possible. Bonus points if you swap spit with them, they touch you inappropriately, or they let you touch _them_ inappropriately. If you can get one to fuck you, you pretty much win the section automatically. And finally, the last part, Section four: Banned! It's just what it sounds like; Whoever gets us kicked out wins, it's as easy as that. It doesn't matter how you do it, as long as it gets done, and we don't leave unless we're thrown out or the place closes. Bonus points if we get put on the permanent Shit-List and they refuse to ever let us back again."

"Easy enough?" Søren asked.

"… I don't know if that's the most-… England, what's the word I want? That one that means 'stupid and you shouldn't do it'?"

"… Ill-advised?"

"Yeah! I don't know if it's the most ill-advised game I've ever heard of, or one of the _coolest_! I'm totally in!"

"It _is_ the coolest. The Awesome Me _did_ come up with it, after all."

"All the more reason for it to be on the list under 'ill-advised'." Arthur said.

"No one asked you, fuckface."

"No one asked you, either." Alfred pointed out.

"Stay out of it, cocksucker!"

"Guys, _guys_." Søren interrupted, "Back to _strategy_?"

"I drop my pants, display my vital regions, and the bitches come running to worship and buy alcohol." Gilbert offered without a moment's thought.

"Go running for the door, more like." Søren snorted.

"Wouldn't we get kicked out?" Alfred asked, "I mean, if you do that over at my place, they charge you for indecent exposure and you get slapped with sexual harassment lawsuits."

"We do that here, too. Don't even think about it, Gilbert."

"You guys are just pissed 'cus mine's bigger."

Arthur scoffed. "In your dreams, love."

"What, you want me to fuckin' prove it?"

"If you're implying that you're going to show me, I'm going to have to decline. I don't happen to have a microscope on me, so I doubt that I'd be able to see it anyway."

"Oh, _burn_!" Alfred pointed to Gilbert and laughed.

"Should we just send Art out off the bat?" Søren suggested, ignoring the bickering, "Or maybe even Al. Don't your girls eat up American accents, England?"

"If they're masochistic and wish to be crushed under a half ton of lard, maybe."

"Hey!"

"I say we stick to the bar for a bit first." Gilbert said, "Get started on S1."

"Seconded." Søren agreed.

"All in favor?" Arthur asked.

"Aye!" The other three confirmed.

"Motion carried; Drinking it is. Cheers. "

They all clinked their glasses together and took a big gulp.

Within minutes, Søren switched over to drinking beer, and engaged Gilbert in a small chugging competition. To Alfred's great relief, Arthur seemed perfectly satisfied with sipping his run and coke and not getting involved in the two-man face-off. He relocated himself to the seat next to the Englishman and nudged him with his elbow.

"Hey, shouldn't we be trying to keep up with them? For the sake of S1?"

Arthur snorted. "Are you kidding? When you're drinking with these two, it's pointless to try and drink the most. You'd just keel over from alcohol poisoning. It's best to forfeit that category right from the start if you'd like to avoid the emergency room." He paused, "Unless you're Latvia. Latvia could probably win."

"They're that bad?"

"Worse, probably." He shrugged a shoulder, "It doesn't matter much, though. Gilbert can almost definitely be counted out of the third category, and neither of them can very often instigate an argument and not get involved themselves, so."

"Who wins out the most on the last contest?"

"Oh, we all come out about even with that one. Though Gilbert might have a slight lead; You know how obnoxious he is. I can't imagine any business not wanting to throw him out, even if they're reluctant to toss out someone who's such good business for the bar."

"Ha!" Søren yelled, slamming his empty mug on the bar counter next to his three others, "I _told_ you I can drink faster!"

"You totally fuckin' cheated, man." Gilbert grumbled.

"How the bleeding fuck do you cheat in a chugging contest?"

"I don't know, but he did it!"

"You're just a sore loser, Gil." Alfred laughed.

"The Amazing Me does not _lose_! I just let him win! That's mercy, not losing."

"Then why are you accusing me of cheating, huh?" Søren grinned from ear to ear, ordering himself a congratulatory shot of rum.

"Shut your fuckin' face!"

Alfred laughed again and gave Gilbert a consolatory pat on the shoulder while Arthur rolled his eyes.

"So, Art. How much booze do we have to get in ya' tonight before you'll bless the lady population with your magic, huh?" Søren asked after throwing back his shot.

"_Really_, Denmark? You're not even going to _try_ and get them here yourself this time?" Arthur asked with a sigh.

"Hey! His Awesomeness will bring forth the hot women!" Gilbert offered/declared loudly.

Søren and Arthur laughed.

"Please, Gilbert," Arthur snickered, "Don't. It'll be more difficult for me to bring them in if they've already heard you open your mouth."

Gilbert huffed and glared. "I'll show you, fucker! _Sieh zu und lerne_." He hoisted himself from his seat and scanned the near-by crowd for a moment, then headed off towards a group of three girls nearby.

He was just out of the other nations' ear-shot, so when he slinked up to the women and threw an arm around one of them, a blonde about his height in a short mini skirt, they couldn't hear what he was saying. He was grinning confidently as he spoke, and thirty seconds after he first opened his mouth, all three of them looked absolutely scandalized. The blonde gave him a sharp shove away from herself, slapped him violently across the cheek, and then stomped away huffily with the other two in tow behind her.

Gilbert came back to his seat in defeat, rubbing his reddened cheek and grumbling about 'up-tight English skanks', the other three cackling joyously at his failure.

"Christ, man, what did you _say_?" Alfred asked, holding his aching stomach muscles.

"I told you he could essentially be counted out of S3; Twit has no finesse." Arthur said amusedly after he'd caught his breath.

"Tch. Like you could do better." He grumbled.

"We all know he can, _dum_." Søren laughed.

"I don't." Alfred pointed out, "And frankly, I don't believe it for a second that he could, unless they're real interested in sewing or imaginary friends." He smiled challengingly at his used-to-be brother.

"Ha! Take that, cocksucker!" Gilbert cheered.

"_Really_?" Arthur lifted an eyebrow at the American.

"Really really."

"Alright, then." Arthur stood and crossed his arms over his chest, "Select my victim."

"Oh! Let me!" Søren cried happily and straightened in his seat so he could better see around the room. He looked for a minute, then smiled broadly and pointed to a booth by the dance floor with five girls seated in it. "How about those ones?"

Alfred craned his neck to see them. They were young, and very pretty- Two blondes, a red-head, a brunette, and one with jet-black hair. They talked and laughed together companionably, nursing on matching fruity cocktails, apparently having some sort of ladies night out. They seemed normal enough, so surely they'd recognize Arthur for the crazy, stodgy old guy he was. "I like them." He conceded.

"Fine. What are the conditions?" Arthur asked.

"Get them to come up and have a drink with us." Gilbert decided.

"The lot of them?"

"They probably won't want to split up if they came together." Søren pointed out.

"Alright." Arthur agreed to the terms. He leaned a bit and watched the group of girls carefully for nearly a full minute.

"…What are you doing?" Alfred asked, ever impatient.

"Figuring as near their collective type as possible." Arthur answered, eyes never leaving the women.

"What is this, one of Kiku's dating sims?"

"Oh, America." Arthur tisked and shook his head pityingly, "So, so naive. There _is_ method to the madness of women; It's not a hit-and-miss game of chance. You just have to know which buttons to push."

"…Have you been talking to France?"

Arthur gave him an 'as if' look and shook his head again. He observed the targets for another few seconds, then took what was left of his drink, slammed it back, and straightened. "Right, then, off I go. Do pay attention."

Arthur gave then a small wave as he strutted away from them, down the stairs and to the second level of the room where the booths were stationed. When he reached where the girls were sitting, they all stopped speaking and watched him suspiciously as he bent over to lean over their table, bracing his elbows on top of it holding his chin up on the back of his folded hands. His eyelids were drawn to half-mast, his lips pulled into a disarmingly charming half-smile. After a short second, his mouth opened to speak to them, and he made eye contact with them confidently as he addressed them collectively.

In a matter of minutes, the girls were talking with him cheerfully, all traces of weariness gone while they tittered and giggled over whatever he was saying to them. They even scooted closer together in their seats so the blonde on the end could tug him by the arm to sit in the booth with them.

The other three nations watched intently from their seats at the bar, and in a mere ten minutes, Arthur was leading the whole gaggle of women away from the table and up the steps to the bar.

Alfred could only stare incredulously.

"Ladies," Arthur began when they arrived, looking incredibly pleased with himself, "These are my dear friends, Søren, Alfred, and Gilbert. Guys, this is Ashley," He indicated the shorter blonde girl, with long hair and brown eyes, "Gabrielle," The brunette, with green eyes and shoulder length tresses, "Piper," The girl with long black hair, pulled into a stylishly messy clip at the back of her head, and sharp blue eyes, "Alex," Who had dark blue eyes and short-cut platinum locks, "And Emily." He finished the introductions with the petite, wavy-haired red-head, who had grey eyes and a faint spattering of freckles over her nose.

The boys each offered up pleasantries, Alfred still flabbergasted as he shook each of their hands. The girls seated themselves among the nations at the bar, Arthur offering to buy them a round of Alabama Slammers, which Alfred assumed was what they'd been drinking when Arthur'd approached them.

The ladies engaged them all in conversation almost immediately, intrigued by the varied looks and accents of the nations, wondering where they'd come from and how they knew each other (Which they had to lie about, just a bit; They told them that they'd met through the military, which was _almost_ the truth). They were very pleasant over all, if a bit giddy, and they all got on quite well- Er, except Gilbert, who the girls gave polite attention to but were obviously annoyed by, bar Alex, who was a bit similar to him in personality and had a lovely time in a mutual discussion of how unbelievably cool they both were.

Alfred was on his third beer and having a great discussion with Gabriella about a trip she'd taken to New York some years back when he noticed how _close_ Piper was sitting to Arthur. Well, 'close' wasn't the right word for it; Really, she was very nearly on his lap with how tightly sidled to his side she was, and she had his arm looped in one of her own. She leaned against his shoulder, spoke directly in his ear, and when she batted her long dark eyelashes at him, he gave her- Not so much a _smile_ as a _**predatory smirk**_.

What the hell _was_ that? Alfred had never seen the island nation look at someone that way. It was bizarre, somehow irritating, and made something in the American's chest burn with-

…With what, exactly?

When Piper- Who, as Alfred now noticed, was small and captivatingly curvaceous, with plump pouty lips- Started tracing a delicate finger over the tattooed hip peeking out from under Arthur's shirt, Alfred couldn't help but wonder if chasing the girl off like Marc and Angus would have would be considered cheating in tonight's game. He turned to Gilbert, about to ask just that, when Gabrielle (who apparently hadn't noticed that the blue-eyed male wasn't paying attention to her) positively _squealed_ with glee.

"Oh, my, _god_!" She exclaimed, in a decidedly Poland-like way, "I _love_ this song! Ohmygosh, Alfred, you _have_ to dance with me!" She stared up at him, wide green eyes pleading, and clutched one of his hands between both of hers.

Alfred blinked at her from behind his glasses, and perked his ears to the song he recognized as having been very popular a few years prior when it was released. "_I ain't got no money- I ain't got no car to take you on a date,_"The artist was saying through the speakers, and Alfred couldn't help but think of how much the notoriously horrible grammar of the song must irritate Arthur. "Er-"

"Dancing sounds absolutely _brill_."**(4) **Piper spoke up, her eyes not leaving Arthur's own as she pouted her lower lip, "Arthur, darling, could we?"

Arthur gave her a roguish smile. "I suppose I could indulge you."

Alfred almost gagged on that unidentified burn when it climbed up into his throat. In retaliation, he offered Gabrielle his most winning brilliant smile, and grabbed her by the hand. "Dancing _does_ sound great."

The two nations lead the girls down into the throng of people on the dance floor, the pairs keeping near to one another close to the center of the floor. Alfred felt a little awkward; He hadn't spent a lot of time in clubs lately, and his dancing appropriate for the setting was a little rusty. Gabrielle didn't seem to care at all, though, and was happy enough to take him by one hand and guide him along with her while she popped and shimmied, running her free hand through her hair sensually while they swayed together. When Alfred got the feel for the music better and felt more comfortable, he spun Gabrielle and then pulled her a little closer to himself- Still at an appropriate distance for someone he'd just met, but near enough, and held her by her sides just above her waist.

He chanced a glance at Arthur and Piper to find that the shorter boy was obviously a lot less concerned about _appropriate distances_. Piper was pressed flush to his chest, her hands on his neck and Arthur's own splayed over her lower back. They stepped together in perfect time, hips rolling with a synchronization that should have taken months of practice to achieve along with the rhythm of the music and _whydidtheyhavetobesofucking__**close**_?

Alfred scowled darkly in their direction. That girl looked entirely too pleased to be in her position, and Arthur had that _stupid_ smirk on, and it was just _not_ okay. Competitively, he made the executive decision to tug his own partner against himself, eliciting a small squeak of surprise from her rosy lips, but no complaints, and Gabrielle adjusted herself to rest her hands on Alfred's shoulders while he took hold of her waist. He noted that, to his severe discontent, he wasn't the only one keeping a close watch on the other couple; Several of the women in the immediate vicinity, and quite a few men, were eyeing them enviously while they danced.

He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or even further agitated when the song seamlessly faded into the more face-paced 'Love Games' and another man cut in to take Piper off Arthur's hands, and after one look at the tall, well-defined male, Piper went along without any resistance at all. Now, Alfred would have found that insulting anyway, but what _really_ bothered him was that it didn't faze Arthur in the slightest. Oh no. As a matter of fact, the Englishman seemed to prefer being without a partner.

The reason for this, Alfred supposed, was because Arthur probably could shown up any girl who danced with him. It was absolutely _criminal_, the way being without someone right against him gave Arthur the room to execute almost flawless steps and belly rolls, slender hips popping and rolling like a seasoned gypsy in serpentine motions, one hand tangled in his short, messy locks. The effect was somewhat feminine, but painfully erotic- And by the way Piper's absence was quite suddenly replaced by _three different girls_, it appeared that the sentiment was wide-spread.

"Wow…" Gabrielle muttered in awe, bringing Alfred's attention to the fact that they'd completely stopped their own movement, "Where'd he learn to do that? I'd love to take lessons…"

"_Fucking India_." Alfred bit out, mentally cursing the nation for all he was worth because that obnoxious, annoying burn was flaring into something akin to an all-encompassing inferno and he needed _someone_ to place the blame on.

"Oh, wow, he's been to India? How cool!" Gabrielle chirped, oblivious to the reference to a person rather than a place, "..Uh, hey. Are you alright? You look kind of angry."

"I'm fine." Alfred told her shortly, "Actually, I just remembered that-" He paused to think of a viable excuse, "-That Gilbert's a fucker and I might need to go hit him, so would you excuse me? You can stay here." It sounded more like a demand than an offer, and Gabrielle nodded at him confusedly before he stomped his way back to the bar.

"Oi, where's Gabby?" Alex asked suspiciously when she caught sight of Alfred approaching, drawing the rest of the group's attention to him as well.

"She wasn't done dancing yet, and decided to stay behind." Alfred slapped on a false, reassuring smile and took the time to point the brunette out in the crowd, just to make sure the other girl didn't think he'd killed her and ditched the body in an ally or something, "You can see her from here." He added for extra insurance, then dropped onto a stool and got the barman's attention. "Would you get me a Jaeger Bomb, please?"

"Are Piper and Arthur still down there, too?" Ashley asked from her seat between Søren and Emily.

"Arthur is. I don't know where Piper went, she ran off with some underwear-model-looking dude." He accepted his drink from the barman and shot it back without so much as blinking.

Emily tutted and shook her head. "That Piper. She's always jumping between people like that when we're out."

"Yeah, she's a bitch." Alfred said absently.

Ashley and Emily gasped; Gilbert and Søren stared at him, perplexed by Alfred bad-mouthing someone he didn't know well like that.

"_I beg your fucking pardon_?!" Alex shrieked, standing up so fast that her stool tipped over.

Alfred turned to give her a stare of blatant disregard. "I said, she's a bitch. D'you want a different description? Slut, maybe? Is that better?"

All three of the girls gaped at him, until Alex stormed over and punched him square on the jaw. Wordlessly, she grabbed Emily and Ashley up by the arms and hauled them away in search of the other two members of their party.

Gilbert and Søren stared at him for a solid ten seconds.

"_Was zur H__ölle__, Amerika_?!" Gilbert yelled, "God _damn it_, I was _this_ close to talking that one blonde into going back to the hotel with me!"

"No you weren't." Søren clarified.

"Fuck you, I so was! Shit." Gilbert huffed irritably and took a big swig from his pint. "Anyway, what's got your panties in a twist?"

"India."

Gilbert perked right up. "Yeah? She around here somewhere?"

"No."

"Oh." The Prussian deflated again.

There was a small silence before Søren spoke up, "You know that fight doesn't count, right? Since she hit you?"

Alfred asked the bar tender for a second Jaeger Bomb. "Yeah, I know."

They spent the next half-hour or so drinking, hitting on every female to step within eyesight (Søren actually managed to obtain a few numbers, putting him in the lead for S3), and instigating arguments between other drunk men at the bar (Which Alfred seemed to have a talent for in his foul mood. That is, until alcohol consumption stunted the already somewhat diminutive 'manipulation' part of his brain) alternatively.

When Arthur returned from the dance floor, he was coated in a light sheen of sweat, and there was a small harem of girls clambering after him, vying for his attention. They all followed him right up to where he perched himself on the stool next to Alfred, chattering at him excitedly about this and that until he introduced the other three males- He didn't introduce the women this time, though, because he didn't know any of their names himself. Gilbert and Søren were only too happy to help distract them, giving Arthur enough time to get a look at Alfred's bruising cheek, which he proceeded to fuss over, making some of the girls coo '_Awww_'s at them and, for some strange reason, helping to pacify the American's poor humor.

"What in the bloody hell did you _do_, Alfred?" Arthur asked, holding a bundled washrag full of ice that he procured from the bartender against Alfred's cheek.

"That Alex chick popped me one." He covered Arthur's hand with his own, pressing the improvised icepack tighter to his jaw; The coldness was nice. His head was fuzzy under a thick blanket of booze, causing the room spin dangerously around him, preventing his thought process from staying in one place for long, and making his skin feel entirely too warm.

"What? Why?"

Alfred felt like he was swaying in his seat, but Arthur wasn't giving him funny looks, so he figured he must not be. "'Cus I told her Piper was a hooker. Or a bitch, or skank, or something like that; I don't remember."

"Alfred Jones! You don't talk about women like that, least of all to their _friends_! You're such a fucking tosser."

"Jeez, sorry for being heroic and defending your honor." Alfred grumbled.

"My- Alfred, what on earth are you talking about? How in the fuck is calling a girl…Whatever you called her, defending anything? And why would I need defending in the first place?"

"'Cus she ditched you for that… That guy. The one with the underwear."

"…How much did you drink while I was gone, exactly?"

"I 'unno." Alfred thought about it, trying to remember. "Um… I had, like, two Jaeger Bombs or something, and then maybe… three shots of bourbon?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Alfred! In thirty minutes? How are you not bent over a toilet right now?"

"…I hold my liquor well?" He offered with a lopsided, lazy smile.

"Holding your liquor well won't do you much good with that much in such a small window of time. Mark my words; You'll be worshipping the porcelain goddess by the end of the night. I need to take you home."

"What? Nooo~" Alfred whined, flinging both arms around the Brit's waist as if holding him there would prevent them from leaving. "We can't! Don't we have to get kicked out?"

"I'll get us kicked out, then." Arthur shoved at the boy a little, trying to dislodge him without pushing the unstable fool clear out of his seat, "Let go of me, you insufferable prat!"

Alfred only clung tighter, refusing to be moved. "Artiiiiiieee~ We can't go yet! We've only been here for, uh…Not long enough!"

"You don't even know what time it is, you can't say one way or another if we've been here too long. For all you know, it's been seven hours."

"No way~"

"Stop acting like a child, Alfred. We're going home and that's final, so let go of my for fuck's sake!"

"You can't make me~" Alfred laughed and looked up to Arthur's face blearily with a smile, resting his chin on the smaller man's chest. "Besides, wouldn't it be totally ungentlemanly to leave with all these girlies here wanting to talk to you? And what about Gil and Søren? They came such a long way to see you, after all."

Arthur had to wonder what the hell was wrong with him to be out-reasoned by a drunk American brat.

"Oh, how sweet!" One of the girls that had tagged along from the dance floor took notice of Alfred being latched on to Arthur's torso despite the spectacle Gilbert was making of himself by standing on the bar and 'singing' into an empty bottle, "Are you two _together_? That's so precious!"

"We most certainly are _not_ t-"

"Yes!" Alfred interrupted, his hazy mind suddenly realizing what a great way that would be to deter the women from snatching away any more of the attention that should so obviously be on _himself_, "Yeah, we _are_, so step off my kool-aid!" **(5)**

Arthur looked absolutely mortified. "Alfred, what the _fuck_-"

"Don't mind him, he's just shy!" Alfred explained (lied).

"Awww!" Another girl joined the first, "You don't have to be sheepish, darling! Love is beautiful!"

"I am _not_ in love with this- This _twat_!"

"Don't worry, baby! Ya' don't have to lie; See how accepting they are?"

"Alfred, if you don't shut your fucking mouth, I swear to god, I'm going to throttle you within a quarter-inch of your life!"

"Hey, hey! Spousal abuse is so not cool, Artie."

"_I'm not your bleeding spouse_!" Arthur turned to address the now small crowd of females watching them, waving a hand dismissively, "A-ah, Don't listen to anything this jackass says, he's obviously had far too much to drink!"

"Why are you so afraid of our _love_?!" Alfred cried in a faux-desperate voice, absolutely _determined_ to keep those women at bay now that he'd found a way to do it. "C'mere and give me a kiss, honey!"

And to Arthur's absolute, indescribable _horror_, Alfred grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, yanked him foreword, and smashed their mouths together in a quick, sloppy kiss, drawing cat-calls and exclamations of adoration from the viewing public.

A quick kiss, because Arthur promptly kneed Alfred directly in the stomach (and if Alfred had been thinking straight, he'd have been thankful that he hadn't aimed lower).

"Holy shit, I _knew_ you guys were gay for each other!" Gilbert cackled happily while Alfred curled over in his seat clutching his stomach, "West _so_ owes me five Euros!"

"Ludwig bet _against_ that? I don't know why; We all saw it coming." Søren snickered, "How long's this been going on for, Arthur?"

"There is _nothing going on_ you fucking ninnies! God _damn_!"

"Arthur.." Alfred murmured painfully.

"_What_?!"

"I… dun' feel very good.."

Arthur glared at him with an expression of '_I should fucking hope not, I just nailed you in the gut_' for the split second it took his brain to catch up with the fact that he'd just hit someone who'd had five shots of hard liquor in the last half-hour in the stomach. "-Oh, bollocks! Shit, Al, hold on, don't puke on the floor! Fuck!" He grabbed the younger boy by the shoulders and shoved him to the- luckily- Very nearby bathroom. He had just enough time to drag Alfred into a stall before the bespectacled male dropped to the ground on his knees, lurched forward over the toilet, and started losing the contents of his stomach.

Arthur kneeled next to him on the floor with a heavy sigh and helpfully pinned ash-blonde bangs back and out of the way with one hand, using the other to rub small circles into the middle of the other boy's back. "For fuck's sake, Alfred, why do you have to be such a ponce?"

"I don't-" Alfred managed to choke out before he gagged again.  
-

~*~

* * *

Again, I don't actually need a scene change, but I have too many annotations, so.

**(1)** "Watch out for the pedestrians!" "They're on the road, they know the risk they're taking"- Quoted for your convenience. I took this almost verbatim from the amazing book Good Omens by Terri Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. I've been dying to use it somewhere, and the opportunity presented itself.

**(2)** To my knowledge, there is no such place as Blackout. I wasn't going to spend a year sifting through nightclubs in London, so I made one up. The interior I described is very largely based off a club I personally really love called Necto, which is located in Anne Arbor, Michigan.

**(3)** "Søren ordered a screw-driver (which earned him a glare from Gilbert, not that the Dane cared)"- A screw-driver, for those unaware, is prettymuch just vodka and OJ. Gilbert hates Russia, vodka is Russian water, so I figure Gilbert would logically hate vodka by association.

**(4)** I think I've used the term 'Brill' in this before and didn't bother to explain it to you all, so here ya go: Brill is slang, short for brilliant, which I'm sure you all know is something those across the pond use as an expression like "perfect" or "very good".

**(5)** What the fuck is this, I don't even… Okay, I don't know where this came from or why I put it in here. I'm sorry; I live in Michigan, I've been exposed to a lot of stupid phrases in my day. 'Step/get/back off my kool-aid' is "Get out of my business", "Get off my back", ect., but can also be used like "Back off of my woman". For some reason, I feel it appropriate that Alfred spew a retarded ghetto phrase of two while drunk. I don't know why.

* * *

~*~  
-

It took almost twenty minutes, but Alfred's stomach finally, blessedly settled itself. He had rinsed his mouth thoroughly with tap water, and not long after he had emptied out his belly, he'd started feeling much better; Sure, he had broken out into a cold sweat, but his guts weren't full of booze anymore, everything had mostly stopped spinning, and depositing everything he'd put in his mouth that day into a nightclub toilet had a small sobering effect in itself. The pair had sat in the bathroom for a small while, Alfred slumped into Arthur's side while the older boy stroked his hair, just to be sure there'd be no more vomiting, and then Arthur lead his drunken companion back out to the bar.

"Oi, I have to take this dolt home and get him in bed so he can sleep this off." Arthur addressed Gilbert and Søren, who were still mingling with some of the women who'd decided to hang around and make sure Alfred was alright, when they were close enough, "So if you two are going to insist on going through with getting kicked out, you'd better get on with it."

"_De børn_ okay?" Søren asked as he eyed Alfred, a little concerned, "I mean, if you hit him hard enough to make him lose his lunch.."

"Yeah, man, I'm good." Alfred gave a thumbs-up and a somewhat weak smile, "Just drank too fast, is all."

"Pussy." Gilbert taunted with a snarky grin, "I drink more than that before breakfast!"

"Which explains your obvious brain damage, now move your arse. One of you two is going to have to cause the problem, I can't trust this lummox on his own."

"_Fine_." Gilbert sighed overdramatically, then turned to Søren. "Shit, this is weird. We've never had _plan_ getting booted out before."

"Flip a coin?" Søren offered.

"Yeah, okay." Gilbert dug a coin out of his pocket. "Heads or tails?"

"Tails."

Gilbert flicked the coin into the air, caught it in one hand, and slapped it down on the back of his other. "Heads!" He called out victoriously when he lifted his hand, "Now, what do I want to do…?" He asked himself, tapping his chin while he thought.

"We don't have time for you to be creative, Gilbert. Pick something and do it."

"Shut up and let me think!" Gilbert looked around calculatingly, until his eyes fell upon the group of five girls they'd been drinking with earlier on in the night. His eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store, and he pointed, "Hey, those are the bitches from before, right?"

The other three followed Gilbert's finger to a booth almost directly under the bar.

"Yeah, that's them." Alfred confirmed.

A horrible, Cheshire grin spread over the pomegranate-eyed nation's face. "Go wait by the doors. We're gunna' have to run after this epic shit I'm about to pull."

"Oh Christ, Gilbert.."

"Just do it! Seriously, it's gunna' be awesome!"

Arthur sighed. "If you get snatched by a bouncer and have your face pounded in, it's entirely your fault."

"Whatever, just go!"

Reluctantly, the three nations did as they were told, making their way to the lower floor, through the dancing pedestrians, and up to the exit. They stopped when they reached the door and turned to watch the show.

Gilbert waited until they were safely away, then spun on his heels and leaped over the bar counter. The bar tenders yelped in shock, and before they could make a move to throw him back, he snagged two unopened cans of soda from the shelves, then dove back the way he'd come. He bolted the short distance from the bar to the guard rails on the edge of the platform, shaking the cans the whole way, and vaulted over the railing like a thief dodging the cops.

The drop was short, and he bent his knees as he landed right in the center of the girls' table with maniacal laugh and loud crack.

All five of the women shrieked as the table collapsed beneath Gilbert's sudden weight, all splintering wood, sending their glasses of Fuzzy Navels shattering to the floor. Luckily, Gilbert anticipated the demise of the table, and sprung up from the wreckage no more than a nanosecond later. Instantly, he popped the tabs on the pop cans with his thumbs, dousing the screaming girls with the sprays of sticky liquid that burst from the containers. When he was sure he'd hit them all, feeling pleased that he'd managed to grab dark-colored cola, he chucked both cans at Alex (in vengeance for both her hitting Alfred earlier, and for her refusal of his sexual advances), did a rather impressive backhand spring over the wreckage of the table, botched his landing, somersaulted backwards a few times into the mess of flabbergasted and hollering people on the dance floor, then sprang up and booked it towards the doors.

"Oh fu- Get to the bleeding car!" Arthur yelled as soon as Gilbert started towards them, spinning Alfred around and shoving him through the door.

They stampeded down the stairs, Søren busting a gut all the way down, and blew past the confused bouncer stationed at the door. They practically fell into the parking lot and made a dash for the car. Søren chucked the keys to Arthur, who hit the automatic lock button, and they slammed into the side of the vehicle with the force of their momentum from sprinting. Throwing the doors open, they jumped in, Alfred tumbling into the passenger seat from the driver's door with Arthur right after him and Søren in the back seat. Arthur slammed his door shut behind him and fumbled to jam the keys in the ignition and start the car, Søren opting to leave his own open in anticipation of Gilbert's arrival. They had just managed to click their seatbelts into place when the Prussian barreled out of the building, four bulky bouncers about six seconds behind him.

Gilbert was at the sports car in four counts, pitching himself through the open door and right into Søren's lap, pulling the door closed hastily behind him. "_Geht, geht_! Fucking haul ass!" He yelled, kicking the back of Arthur's seat for emphasis.

Arthur floored it, making them all jerk back harshly in their seats while they careened out of the parking lot and into the streets.

As soon as they were safely on the road, they erupted into riotous laughter.

"Holy shit, Gilbert! That was _awesome_!" Alfred cheered happily, curled over his lap while he tittered.

"All in a day's work for _Preußen_ the great!" He cackled as he leaned between the front seats to punch the power button on the radio, flooding the car with loud metal music.

"Great cheerleader moves, by the way." Søren jeered, nudging Gilbert in the ribs with an elbow.

"Fuck off. You just _wish_ you were that flexible."

"Flexible indeed- Like a teenaged harlot." Arthur grinned.

"Hey, cheerleaders are awesome athletes!" Alfred complained. "They're like… like dancers, and gymnasts, and inspirational speakers all jammed in one! Can _you_ bend like them? Huh?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, mister '_come here and kiss me, honey_'?"

"Oh, that's right! I almost forgot that the kid's a total fuckin' fairy!" Gilbert laughed from the back seat, slugging Alfred on the shoulder . "Dude, seriously, you could so do better than prissy ol' England here."

"Blow me, Beilshmidt. I'm better in bed than you, and you know it."

"Oh god, Artie, _no_! I dun' wanna hear it!"

Søren jumped on the opportunity; "Oh! I remember one time in Berlin, there was this _smokin' hot_ babe with the nicest ass you've ever seen in a bar we went to, and she dragged Art into the bathroom and-"

"_La-la-la-la-la, I can't hear you_!" Alfred yelled, clapping his hands over his ears.

"You could hear her screaming half way down the street, she was moaning so loud!" Søren raised his voice, "She kept begging, '_Oh, god, Arthur, harder, __**harder**_!'"

" _La-la-la, can't fucking hear you! __**Shut the hell up**__, I totally can't hear you_!"

Unfortunately for Alfred, Gilbert seen fit to join in on the taunting. Arthur laughed so hard that he nearly drove them off the road.

-

* * *

**A/N**: Well, there's that. I like it a lot better than last chapter, and we're finally creeping foreword a bit on the USUK/UKUS front. You got an actual KISS this chapter! Well, sort of. This one's really long, too.. I probably could have cut it somewhere, but.. oh well. You guys like long chapters anyhow.

You're all going to be tired of drunken escapades by the end of this fic, I should think. =p

But, yeah. I hope you liked it, thanks for reading (I bet my reviewers are sick of the phrase 'I'm glad you liked it' by now, huh? =p Which reminds me:) and please please **review** for me. I love to hear your thoughts, guys~

Translations:  
**Prussia** (german):  
_Hallo_ – Hello  
_Augenbrauen_- Eyebrows  
_Als ob, arschloch__!_- As if, asshole!  
_Königreich Preußen_- Kingdom of Prussia  
_Der depp_- The idiot  
_Vereiningtes Königreich_- United Kingdom  
_Gott_- God  
_Westen_- West  
_Fick dich, wichser_- Fuck you, jerkoff/wanker/ect (one of those all-purpose derogatory words)  
_Sieh un lernen_- See and learn  
_Was zur H__ölle__, Amerika?!_- What the hell, America?!  
_Geht!_- Go!  
(Can you tell which language I'm learning yet?)

**Denmark**:  
_Storbritannien_- Britain  
_Nej_- No  
_Dum_- Stupid  
_De børn_- The kid/child


	7. Rock

**A/N:** Sorry this one took me a little longer. I took a few days off working on the fic to laze around and try to get together in my head what to do with this chapter, and start thinking a little harder about the order in which I wanted to put these things. I also, then, had to do some research and stuff. Because, y'know. And had a lot of trouble staying on task in general. I know, I'm horrible to you guys, I'm sorry.

We're getting a little back into my element here now, with the change of locations.

Also, I've been told several times that I should add a warning to this fanfic, so here you go:  
WARNING:  
_Read at your own risk. Author will not be held responsible for mental, physical, or emotional traumas brought upon readers for the viewing this fanfiction, including but not limited to: The loss or displacement of one's buttocks due to laughter nor the odd looks one may receive from bystanders, blood loss via the nostrils, frustration due to UST(unresolved sexual tension) of characters herein, incessant mental images of the sexually provocative variety, addiction to music featured, high-pitched vocalizations of joy [EG: Squealing], the urges to: Visit a night club/bar/pub/concert or any other featured event/place; Relinquish ownership of one's soul and/or first born child; Join the ranks of the US/UK/US Fan Tribe; Fan-girl/boy; Obtain and care for a rabbit. By continuing to indulge in this fanfiction, readers hereby agree that they understand these conditions._

**Dedications **(I won't say WHY anymore; I think I gave some things away last time, and by the time everything's through, you should all know why you're here)-  
**Just Another FMA Fan**  
**Iaveina**

Also, this will be another two-part chapter. This first part won't have all that much going on; Think of it as sort of an introductory section to the next part. Now, without further ado, the story-

* * *

-

Arthur glanced up from the sofa, a cup of tea in one hand and a newspaper in the other, when Alfred came stumbling down the stairs with a groan.

"Aggh…My _head_," The American complained, cradling aforementioned body part in his hand when he reached the bottom of the steps. His hair was sticking out at all angles, and he was still wearing yesterday's wrinkled clothes. The bright sun pouring in from the open den window wasn't helping his migraine much, either, and he felt like he'd tried to eat an entire field of cotton. "I think I got hit by a truck."

"A little hung-over, are we?" Acid green eyes twinkled in sadistic pleasure at Alfred's discomfort for a moment, before turning back to the paper.

"We? _You_ look perfectly fine." Alfred grumbled and glared half-heartedly as he flopped next to Arthur on the couch. Winter appeared from under the furniture in a flash, nipped at Alfred's heel and made him yelp, then dashed across the room and down a hallway. "…Your rabbit is the spawn of Satan."

"She just recognizes you for the git that you are, is all." Arthur took a sip of his tea. "I _am_ perfectly well, so I should hope that I'd look it. You drank considerably more than I did."

"Sure, rub it in, why don't you?" He scrubbed at his scratchy eyes with his palms. "Do you have some aspirin around here somewhere?"

"Aspirin is horrible for a hang-over.**(1) **I made you a Bloody Mary, it's in the refrigerator. Put some ice in it."

"You want me to drink _more_ to get rid of a hang-over?"

"Yes."

"Your logic is awful."

"My logic is perfectly fine, unlike _yours_, now go get it."

Alfred whined, but at the moment, he'd probably drink a glass of bear piss if someone told him it'd make his head stop pounding, so he hefted himself up and shuffled into the kitchen to retrieve the drink anyway. He plunked a few ice cubes into it as instructed, took in a mouthful of the concoction, and returned to the sofa with it. "Y'think this'll cure my stomach, too?"

"No. Your stomach doesn't hurt from drinking, it hurts because I rammed my knee in your gut."

"I thought it felt a lot like a bruise. What'd I do to offend your stupid-delicate sensibilities?" He asked, taking another drink of the cocktail.

"Snogged me in the middle of a crowded night club." Arthur told him without looking up from his paper.

Alfred choked, sucking a small amount of vodka-tomato fluid into his lungs, and clapped a hand over his mouth to avoid spewing it across Arthur's expensive carpet. He hacked and sputtered for a while, Arthur pounding [un]helpfully on his back, before he could choke out a, "W-_what_?! You're yankin' my chain, right?"

"Oh, certainly not. The women were pretty enamored with the show, really. Prussia was particularly thrilled, too; Apparently you won a bet for him."

"Oh, god, _Gilbert_ seen? Balls, he's going to tell Ludwig, and Ludwig's going to tell Feli, who's going to tell _Feliks_, and god knows Feliks will tell _everyone_-"

"Denmark was there, too."

"_Christ_! He's already spread word to all of Scandinavia, I'm sure!" Alfred groaned and put his Bloody Mary on the coffee table to hold his head in his hands; This was NOT helping his headache at _all_. "Fuck my life."

"Really, America. You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble. You could have just _told_ me about your feelings-"

Alfred's cheeks flushed hot and he shot straight up to stare. "_Feelings_?! I don't-"

"You made quite the spectacle, dropping down on the middle that Burger King parking lot and _proposing_ like that when we'd stopped on our way home- Well, proposing might not be the word. Begging could be more accurate."

"P-p-pro…" He couldn't even bring himself to say the word.

"And then there was all your babbling about buying a little house in the country with a picket fence and a dog to settle down in, maybe adopting some little Ethiopian kids, changing your name to 'The United States of _British_-America'… It was somewhat touching, actually."

Alfred just sat there, gawping and red-cheeked, opening and closing his mouth like a fish as his brain tried to process and file the information it had been given. Kids? _British-America_? Sweet baby Jesus in a basket, what had he been _thinking_?! When his head finally caught up with his mouth, he managed to utter a single, hopeful question: "…B-but you said no, right?"

"Of course-"

"Oh thank _god_!"

"- To the children and the dog. You'd hardly be a responsible parent, and a dog could hurt poor Winnie."

Alfred's sun-kissed face lost its pallor to a hue that could put a bed-sheet to shame. "Y-you mean you…?"

Arthur held up his left hand, palm facing Alfred, to display a smooth and glinting pale-gold band wrapped around his ring finger. The larger nation could do nothing but stare at it blankly, mouth agape.

Holy matrimony, Batman!**(2)** What did he fucking _do_?! Oh god, he'd just.. Resigned himself to a life of eating Arthur's horrible cooking, and being yelled at all the time, and dealing with talks about pixies and ghosts! Though.. He _had_ heard an awful lot about how kinky the English were in bed, so- No! Oh jeez, oh fuck, oh god, what was he going to do?! He HAD to get out of this somehow!

"_But,_" Alfred's mind interrupted him, "_If you got married, you made a whole bunch of promises, and you're a hero! Hero's can't back out of promises._"

Alfred kindly told himself to shut the fuck up (in his head, of course), but any way he looked at it, that little voice was right.

With a sigh, Alfred forced a weak, somewhat twitching smile that turned out more like a grimace, and took Arthur's hand in his own shaking appendage. He rather looked like he was going to be sick. "O-oh. Uh, okay, Artie. I'll make sure to be the best h-h-_husband_ you could ever-"

"Alfred."

"Y-yeah?"

"I'm _lying_."

"You're..?"

"This isn't Vegas; Where the hell do you think we'd find an open chapel _and_ a jewelry store in the middle of the bleeding night?"

"…Oh, you _dick_!" He gave the Brit a healthy shove, sending him roughly into the arm of the couch, but couldn't stop the relieved laughter bubbling up from his chest and out of his mouth. "You scared the fuck out of me! _Jesus_." He smiled broadly, feeling like the weight of the world had been lifted off his chest, and reveled in the fact that he hadn't become Alfred F. Kirkland- It just didn't roll off the tongue like Jones.

"You deserved it, arsehole. I didn't make _all_ of it up; You _did_ kiss me in the club, and told a whole group of women that we were _involved_- That they needed to 'back up off your kool-aid'. Where do you even come up with stupid things like that? And why did you _do_ that, for fuck's sake?"

Alfred was still too pleased with having dodged the bullet of marriage to even care that he'd kissed the island nation. "Dude, I have no idea. I was probably being awesome and keeping you from catching The Clap from one of them or something."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Where'd that ring come from, anyway?"

"Left-over plunder from pirating. It was tucked away upstairs."

"Damn, that really was a great joke; You totally got me!" In an infinitely better mood than when he woke up, Alfred grabbed his Bloody Mary, downed half the glass, and stood from the sofa. "Anyway, I'm going to go take a shower, and then we should go out and get some breakfast. I'm starvin'."

"I _could_ cook, you know."

"Man, after a scare like the one I just had, my stomach wouldn't be able to take any more trauma."

"Piss off!"

Alfred ignored him and skipped off to the bathroom, making a mental note to remember the joke for next April Fools.

-

~*~

* * *

**(1)** Aspirin actually IS bad for hang-overs. It's a blood-thinner, just like alcohol is, and can actually intensify the effects, as can many other in-reach pain killers. Bloody Mary's, though, supposedly actually work (I wouldn't know; I'm a great drinker, and so I've never had a hangover. Plus, I hate Bloody Mary's), for multiple reasons: One, while your body is trying to cope with the new alcohol you're introducing to it, it will ignore the old alcohol in favor of it, and one Bloody Mary shouldn't be enough to get you drunk again. Two, the tomato juice and celery have a lot of vitamins, which will help to replenish the ones you lost drinking. Most hang-overs are caused largely by dehydration, though, and just about the best thing you can do to avoid one is to make sure you drink plenty of water in between your booze (which is what I do). It helps your body push the alcohol through your system faster, AND keeps you from drying yourself out.

**(2) **This is actually one of those classic old-school Robin puns/exclamations of surprise from the old-school Batman and Robin series thing. xD

PS: Happy belated April-Fools. xD The holiday actually isn't relative to the chapter at all, but it did help inspire me for how to kick it off. =p

* * *

-

~*~

"So, Arthur. I was thinking while I was in the shower earlier." Alfred told his companion over the table in homey little restaurant.

"Really? Best be careful not to strain yourself, then."

"Oh, haha. That joke's as old as you are. Anyway, you know how you said you got that ring you had on back during your pirate days?" Arthur hummed an affirmative. "It got me thinking that there are some fairs going on over at my place right now that I think you'd have a lot of fun at, and I was wondering if maybe you'd want to hop a plane today and go to one."

"It's a little late, don't you think? By the time we got into America, it'd be well into the day. Sort of a waste to travel that far for a couple hours at some fair, if even that."

"Well, we wouldn't go to the fair today. We'd skip across the Atlantic to my house, stay there for the night, then I'd take us the rest of the way in my own plane because it's been way too long since I took one out. We'd crash at a hotel, and then go to the fair the next day."

"I really don't think so, Alfred. You couldn't possibly have a festival interesting enough to warrant that much travel."

"Too late, I already booked us plane tickets. We're leaving this afternoon." He gave a sunny smile and stuffed the last bite of his eggs in his mouth.

"…You're a sodding wanker, did you know that?"

"Sure did. What're these black things that look like burnt sausage patties?" He asked, poking the only things left on his plate with his fork curiously.

"I don't think you'd-…Why don't you try it?"

Alfred shrugged and cut a piece of one of them off with his fork, and, after giving it a thoughtful sniff, put it in his mouth. Not only did it look like sausage, it tasted very closely to it as well, and had a very similar texture. After finishing the bite, Alfred hummed in approval and went for another. "I like it. What's it called?"

"You would call it black pudding. We usually call it something different here, because of the ingredients."

"What's in it?" He inquired around a mouthful.

"Suet, oats, milk, barley, mint… pig's blood."

Alfred promptly spat the food back onto his plate, making an awful face, and proceeded to guzzle down his glass of orange juice while leveling Arthur with a glare. "Damn it, England, that's disgusting!" He lamented when he was satisfied that his mouth had been sterilized, "Why would you tell me to eat that?!"

"Disgusting? No worse than a steak cooked medium-rare. And do you not know what's in those hot dogs you love so much?"

"Hey, hot-dogs are awesome!"

"Hot dogs are made with meat from animals' livers, hearts, and kidneys. Ever wonder what the labels meant by 'variety meats'?"

"Shut up! Stop trying to ruin a great American food!"

"They didn't come from America."

"I said _shut up_. If they didn't come from my place, then my people definitely perfected it!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, love."

Alfred huffed childishly and crossed his arms over his chest, pouting and waiting for Arthur to finish eating.

When they'd both gotten through their meals and paid their check, they returned to Arthur's house to pack. Since their vacation would be coming to an end soon, they agreed that they'd just spend the rest of it in America, and then Arthur would return home on his own on the last day, so Alfred had to make sure he'd gotten everything of his together and put into his suitcases. Arthur, at Alfred's insistence, also decided to bring along an acoustic guitar he'd had laying around, as well as one of the old privateer**(1)** uniforms he'd had safely packed away. Arthur'd been a little confused over the last request, and Alfred explained to him quite enthusiastically that they weren't going to just _any_ festival, but a _Renaissance Fair_, and "Only losers don't dress up for them!", so the Englishman gave in and included it in his luggage. They locked up the house, took Winter to the kindly old woman next-door who'd agreed to look after her until Arthur got back (There'd been a large argument over where the bunny would stay; Alfred had suggested Francis, but Arthur insisted that the Frenchman could not be depended upon to sustain the well-being of another living creature, and refused. Arthur'd wanted to leave her at home, swearing up and down that the fae were _more_ than capable of taking care of her in his absence, and Alfred, not believing in the 'mythical' beings, accused him of trying to let the poor thing die. They eventually settled on the neighbor as a compromise.), and were off to the air-port.

They checked their bags, got their tickets, went through security, and found their gate, all without a hitch. They had lunch at a small café in the airport, and by the time three in the afternoon rolled around, they were comfortably seated in first class, thirty-thousand feet in the air, on their way to America. Two and a half hours into the flight, they'd already been threatened to be moved to coach for arguing and disturbing the other passengers twice. An hour after that, they were cut off by the stewardesses and were refused any more drinks that contained alcohol. After their dinner was served and eaten, they'd been told they would receive no more warning before they'd be removed from first class, and smartly resolved not to speak to each other for the rest of the flight, and spent the next four hours ignoring each other in favor of watching the in-flight movies.

They arrived in Virginia**(2)** at five after seven at night, horribly jet-lagged.**(3)** They retrieved their luggage and took a taxi to Alfred's home, where they immediately said their "good-nights" and "fuck-you's", then turned in for the night.

-

~*~

* * *

**(1) **I keep making references to England as having been a pirate because that's the fandom cannon, but in actuality, it's much, much more likely that he was actually a privateer, which is pretty much just a pirate that has a government's permission to operate. They still pilfer ships, and they still take all their shit, which they get to keep and divvy up among the crew, but they get the perk of not being potentially hanged for it, because the nation's government has given them the okay to do it to certain people. From what I understand, they had to wear something of a uniform, and at least the ones from America weren't allowed to be unnecessarily brutal with the taken ship's crew members, but that very well could have different for Britain, or when England was a privateer.

**(2)** So far as I can remember, there's no cannon address for any of the nation's homes, but I could be wrong. I wasn't going to be specific about Alfred's, since there's several differing ideas as to where he would/should live (Washington DC, New York, and Virginia being the more popular ones I've seen), but it's gotten around to being important to this fic for this place to be selected. As such, I've decided on Richmond, Virginia. Virginia was the home of Jamestown, the first permanent English settlement in America, and was named for Elizabeth I, the Virgin Queen.

**(3)** The time difference between the UK and where I am right now is five hours. That means that when it's 7:05pm in Eastern Standard here in America, it's 11:05pm in England. Flights from England to this part of America take approximately 8 hours. That's a long time to be sitting on a plane, for anyone who's never done it, and it takes a whole lot out of you.

* * *

-  
~*~

Alfred woke up feeling completely and totally _phenomenal_.

He'd missed home sorely while he was away, even though he hadn't really noticed it until he was back. He liked visiting in the UK, he really did, but there was nothing like being in _his_ lands, where _his_ people were. He'd woken up in his own bed after a great sleep, and was looking forward to a day of flying one of his planes, eating his food, and taking Arthur along with him. It was bright and early on a beautiful, sunshiny day, and he really couldn't have been happier.

Well… Unless _Arthur_ had decided to grace the world with one of his better moods. Then Alfred would be happier.

As it were, he was remembering why he tried to avoid having Arthur as a houseguest. The Brit was never especially pleasant when he was within the boundaries of the original colonies, least of all Virginia, and this time was no exception. Alfred supposed it was probably exasperated by the fact that he had essentially _forced_ the smaller man into this trip, but really, did he have to be so _grouchy_?

"Artiiiieee~" He whined, almost decided to poke at Arthur from across the little table, but then thought better of it. "Why are you in such a bad mood? Did you sleep okay?"

"I'm _not_ in a bad mood, you twat!" Arthur snapped, pausing in his consumption of breakfast (which Alfred cooked) to glower. "Or at least I _wouldn't_ be, if you'd piss off and leave me the fuck alone!"

"C'mooon~ I made tea for you and everything, but you're still angry. What do you want me to do, sing your national anthem while you eat? I'd seriously consider it if you'd stop being fussy."

"Why don't you just shut your god-forsaken mouth like I _asked_ you to? I'm sure I'd be much less irritated then."

"Jeez, cheer up! We're going to have a great day!"

"Oh, yes. Sitting in a plane with you, again, for god knows how long, going god knows where. That's going to be absolutely _brilliant_. While we're at it, maybe you could cover me in honey and show me to the nearest colony of fire ants so I could roll around atop their hill. Wouldn't that be fun? Or, hell, we could go to the local zoo, and I could put on a suit made entirely of raw steak, then throw myself into the tiger exhibit. Oh, I know! We could call France over here, give him a bottle of chloroform and pair of handcuffs, and then I'll sit in a god damned bedroom with him, naked, sucking on the most phallic-looking popsicle we can fucking find, and you'll conveniently step out of the house for a moment so he can _fuck me until I'm_ _blind_! That would be utterly _smashing_!"

"…You're being sarcastic, aren't you?"

"_No_. Me? _Never_."

"No, you _totally_ are. That's definitely your sarcasm face."

Arthur slammed his head on the table and groaned.

"Tsk. Come on, Arthur, it's going to be fun, I swear. You like flying- I mean, yeah, you like sailing a lot better, but you like flying too, and you're going to love my new plane! It's totally awesome, and the cockpit is closed so you won't even be cold, and it'll be great." Alfred scooted his chair to the other side of the table next to the irritated boy and slung an arm around his shoulders. "Buck up; We'll be out of Virginia soon, okay? I know you don't like it here."

Arthur made a noise something similar to an angry dog and shoved Alfred off of him. "I have no problem whatsoever with Virginia." He denied.

"Sure you do! Y'know, because-"

"Belt up! I don't want to hear it, you're wrong."

"You're a liar~"

"I am _not_!"

"You _so_ are."

"I'm going to bludgeon you to death with your own coffee mug if you don't close your mouth _right this instant_."

"Aw, you wouldn't do that. We've been getting along so well this week!"

"I most certainly _would_. Do you care to test me?"

"…No, not really."

"Then finish your fucking breakfast so we can _leave_."

"Jeez, so hostile." He mumbled, but smartly crammed a piece of toast in his mouth when he noticed his former mentor's fingers creeping towards the mug his tea had been in.

Their meal was finished off shortly and they washed their few dishes together before they packed up the things they'd be needing for the next two days, locked the house up, and climbed into Alfred's care to cover the short distance between his home and the small hangar he kept his handful of small aircrafts.

When they arrived, Alfred parked his car in a small garage and let them into the hangar. He was ecstatic, almost dragging Arthur along through the large space as they made their way towards the back where his newest plane was located, covered by a big tarp just as all the others were to prevent any dust build-up between flights. The covered mode of transportation wasn't very large as far as planes went; It was only about seven feet tall, around twenty to twenty-two feet from nose to tail, with a wingspan of something like thirty-four feet.

"Ready to see my youngest baby?" Alfred asked giddily while he clutched a corner of the tarp.

Arthur couldn't help but smile- Just a tiny, hardly-there smile- At the boy's enthusiasm; Alfred had loved flying since it had first been made possible for humans. The American had nearly the same insatiable appetite for the sky as Arthur himself had for the sea, as though they were men made not for land, but the open air and waters. "Yes, yes. Get on with it." He acquiesced, not unamused.

Alfred's grin stretched nearly ear-to-ear as he gave the covering in his hands a sharp tug. The unveiling wasn't quite as dramatic as he would have liked, the tarp being of a good size and needing to be pulled at a few more times before it fell away completely, but he was not disappointed by Arthur's surprised face. "The Icon A5 Light Sport Aircraft."**(1) **He declared proudly, patting the side of the plane affectionately.

The LSA was sleek and aerodynamic with smooth lines, looking suspiciously like it had been designed for a video game. The wings were placed high for better visibility, the propeller facing backwards and mounted behind the two-seater cockpit. Unlike most LSA's, it was obviously equipped of both water and ground landings, and its white-silver color shined nicely even in the somewhat dark room, accentuated by bits of candy-apple red.

"These aren't supposed to be released for sale until 2011." Arthur pointed out knowingly, tracing a finger over the machine that had only been designed in recent years. "They're still technically testing it. How'd you get your hands on one of these?"

"You aren't the only one who knows how to pull strings." Alfred winked at the island nation and slapped a ring of keys into Arthur's hands. "Go open the bay door over there and help me wheel her out."

The next hour or so was spent wrangling the plane out onto the runway behind the hangar, pumping it full of fuel, and running through check-lists to make sure everything was operational. When they'd declared her ready and perfectly capable of flight, they locked everything up, stuffed their modest luggage into the plane's storage compartment, climbed in, and secured the hatch. The interior wasn't any less odd-looking then the outside; This particular model was designed to be easier for the average person to fly, and the dash looked suspiciously like that of a car, minus the steering wheel- There was even an MP3 hook-up!

"It's a beautiful day for flyin', ain't it?" Alfred asked while they strapped themselves in. "Clear blue skies… We'll be able to see everything!"

"It really is good weather, I have to admit. How long are we going to be up for?"

"About four and a half hours, if the wind is cooperative. We'll be there by two or so this afternoon." He put the keys in the ignition, got the engines going, and started setting up his Ipod. "I've got permission from this guy I know to land in a field behind his house, not too far from where we're going, and to keep the plane in his barn."

"That's awfully nice of him." Arthur commented absently, snatching the music device from the pilot to better dictate what they'd be listening to, untrusting of some of Alfred's music tastes.

"Yeah, he's a great dude." He relinquished the Ipod, seeing as how it was his and there wasn't anything on there Arthur could pick that he didn't like. "Ready to go?"

"By all means. Ah! This song is perfect."

Alfred laughed as the speakers started pumping the cabin with an electronic beat. He got the plane started down the runway, accelerating quickly. "How do you even _know_ this band?"

"I don't live under a rock, you know."

"Still. I didn't know this was your kind of thing."

"Stuff it."

"Good pick, though! Watch; I can time liftoff to the chorus and everything!"

"Oh, I doubt it."

"No, I can!"

"Let's see it then."

"You gotta sing along, though; You know the words, right?"

"Of course."

"Start it at the beginning again, then!" The plane started lifting just minutely at the air under its wings.

Arthur rewound the song, picking his voice up along with it as the girl started singing, "Standing there alone~ The ship is waiting. All systems are go- Are you sure? Control is not convinced, but the computer has the evidence. No need to abort~ The countdown starts~" **(2)**

Alfred laughed happily, flipping switches and pushing the plane forward. It was having trouble keeping to the ground as Arthur went into the second verse along with the music, and the American mentally congratulated himself for his amazing timing. The A5 started lifting, gradually at first as he tilted the control back. "Four- Three- Two- One~" He joined in the singing just as they got up high enough for him to retract the wheels.

"Eaarth below us~ Drifting, falling! Floating weeeiightless~ Calling, calling! Home~" They chorused as they gained altitude, their stomachs flipping with the change and their ears threatening to pop.

In a matter of minutes they were well in the air, the earth splaying out far below and offering miles and miles of its expanse for view under the bright morning sun, houses and cars appearing as small as children's toys, individual people utterly indistinguishable. Everything was green and lush this time of the year, perfect hues that any artist could only pray to mimic. The powder-blue sky opened before them, endless, uninterrupted bar a rare cloud here or there so far as the eye could see- Which was an awfully long way off at this kind of height.

There wasn't any turbulence as the plane evened out from its upward tilt, and Alfred sighed contentedly, wearing a pleasant smile. "Hit that little green button by the screen in the dash, would you, Artie?"

Arthur did as he was asked, blinking as the little screen came to life with a map and a pre-set course dotted out, as well as a display showing weather conditions, temperature, the plane's altitude, latitude and longitude, and the time. "This thing has a bloody GPS?"

"Yep! It's made so any bastard with enough money to get one can learn how to use it without killing himself. Real easy to operate."

"Where are we headed, anyway?"

"Somewhere that the weather is as crazy as it is over at your place; We're goin' to Michigan." **(3)**

-  


~*~**

* * *

**

**(1) **The Icon A5 is an actual plane. It was developed a few years back, a collaboration between an F-16 pilot and a skateboard designer. It was made to try and make recreational flying more available to the "average" (Eg: Wealthy) person, and therefore has very simple controls. It actually DOES have GPS, and IS MP3 compatible. When it's released for sale, it's estimated that it will be sold for approximately $139,000. I don't know jack shit about flying or piloting, so you'll have to forgive any mistakes I've made. I should have consulted my friend before I wrote this; She's in the National Guard as a Black Hawk mechanic.

**(2) **Major Tom, a cover by Shiny Toy Guns. Very coincidentally, this song came on my music player while I was writing this, and I just had to incorporate it.

**(3) **Most of us Americans have been lead to believe that it rains pretty nearly constantly in the UK. From what I've heard, it's not necessarily that it rains there quite so much as is widely thought, but moreso that the weather is extremely unpredictable, in that it will be perfect and sunny one minute, then raining cats and dogs the next. Well, we have saying here in Michigan: "If you don't like the weather, wait ten minutes". In other words, our weather is all over the place too. It was like, 65 degrees (Fahrenheit) here yesterday, and today we're expecting snow. Us Michigan people feel your pain, Britain, and I bet we hate our weathermen for being inaccurate as much as y'all do. =p  
Also, I haven't selected Michigan as the setting for this chapter because I live here. I was originally going to use Arizona or California, but when I worked out what I wanted to do for the next chapter, Michigan turned out to be very strategically placed. Also note that I've never been to the town that's going to be used, or to this particular fair (the fair I go to is in the fall, and I swear to you it is the single greatest Renaissance Fair that has ever been. We get people flying in clear from the west coast, and from parts of Canada, just to drop in for the festival. It's totally brilliant.) so anyone who HAS should please excuse the inaccuracies I'm sure to have.

* * *

-  
~*~

After four hours and forty-six minutes of air travel spent singing along to more bands than either nation could have even considered keeping track of, an easy landing, fifteen minutes spent guiding the Icon A5 into an old barn, ten talking to the kindly land owner, and a ten minute taxi ride, Alfred and Arthur found themselves at the National House Inn- A bed and breakfast in Marshall, Michigan.

The B&B was a lovely two-story building of red brick about two blocks from the main down-town area, and had a cozy, classical look about it- As is well should have, being the oldest operating hotel in the entire state. It had been build originally as a stage-coach stop, kept up in wonderful shape, and had experienced many updates throughout the years to incorporate every modern convenience, but maintained a particular nineteenth-century Americana feeling that was homey and utterly charming. It was the sort of building one might expect to see in the country down in some of the more southern states; There were brick fireplaces in some of the lounges, delicate floral wallpapers with patterns of roses and vines, Victorian furniture, and a lovely garden around back. To Arthur's _total _delight, they were greeted upon checking in with afternoon tea in the comfortable dining room by a darling, soft-spoken woman who behaved like the kind of sweet, proper lady that could be so hard to find in this day and age.

Their particular room was called The Ketchum Suite; It was a Victorian bed chamber. The walls of the main room were a neutral tan color, decorated by small framed pictures and pieces of embroidery. On one wall was a lovely craved-wood vanity dresser, across from the windows overlooking the large white fountain in front of the building, and next to which was the door that lead to a full bath- Complete with a bear-claw bath tub. The bed (_The,_ because there was only one, but with all the sleeping together they'd been doing already this week, it hardly seemed to matter) was a queen with a large carved headboard, modest in that it wasn't decked out with more pillows than anyone would know what to do with, but covered by velvety-soft blankets of such a rich red that it could put a rose to shame. A few feet from the foot of the bed was an open doorway leading to a classical Victorian sitting room, set with furniture of that era, with ivory wallpaper and oil-paint portraits in bulky golden frames. The sitting room had another window, this one giving a peek into the garden, and a smaller half-bathroom attached. Both rooms' floors were covered by the same pale, flower-printed carpeting, worn soft to the touch by years of use.

"So, England, did I do good?" Alfred asked as he flopped back onto the bed, watching where Arthur was turned to the window of the main room.

"It's 'well'. 'Did I do _well_'."

"Give it up, I'm just gunna keep talking however I want anyway. Do you like it here or not?"

Arthur hummed a bit. "Yes, I do. It's quaint."

"Yeah, the whole town's got this sort of architecture. A lot of historic buildings and stuff. We've got most of the day left still; We could walk into town. Get some lunch, hit the shops, see some of the local attractions."

That's just what they did. The rest of their day was spent gallivanting through the old town, popping into this museum (Strictly avoiding the Civil War Museum for the sake of Alfred's sanity) and that store, eating at Cornwall's Turkeyville **(1)**, and taking the 1.6 mile Marshall Riverwalk along the Kalamazoo River. Arthur even managed to coax a very reluctant Alfred into the Oakridge Cemetery after the sun had set, before they grabbed dinner and headed back to the B&B for the night.

The really amazing thing was, that they had managed to clear the entire day without having gotten into any serious argument (Not to say that they didn't bicker, but it was more playful banter than anything else) since they'd left Virginia that morning. It was the first day since their holiday had began that one or the other of them hadn't felt stressed at all, and when they went to bed that evening, huddled together in the plush Victorian bed, they were on better moods with each other than they had been in far too long a time.

-

~*~

* * *

**(1) **This is a deli-style restaurant/ice-cream parlor/dinner theater/arcade/petting zoo/flea market, all packed in under one big roof. I imagine it's a lot like a mini-mall, and has to be a very interesting place to pop into.

* * *

* * *

**A/N:** There y'have it. Like I said, not a lot of significance to this part of the chapter, but I needed to do it as a lead-in. I hope you guys liked it even though there wasn't much to it. I don't have a whole lot to say about it. Please, pretty please drop some **reviews** for me, you lovely people, even though I'm being a punk of an author for taking so long to pump this one out. I hope you'll forgive me. =p

Oh! I almost forgot, that I'm going to be switching up the chapter names. Because I don't like just having "Chapter One", "Chapter Two", ect, but I'm also really bad at naming chapters. So I'm just going to pick a song, I think, And use bits of lyrics.

Kiss kiss, loves.


	8. Princess

**A/N: **My first order of business today is to thank you guys for being so great when I posted that note. It's really touching to know so many of you took the time to wish me well, and how totally understanding y'all are. Seriously. _Thank you_. It really made me feel a little better about everything knowing my readers care so much. You guys are _so_ awesome, I seriously love you all. For any of you guys wondering, I went and seen my Grandpa in the hospital on Sunday and he's starting to show some improvement. Also, my aunt had the baby early Tuesday morning. We went to go see them on Friday after they went home, and the baby, Ava, is beautiful. She's a little small and she's got jaundice, but it's not very prominent and should clear up soon. Overall they're both doing very well. And, that little boy in town I mentioned? Because of the absolute uproar around here, it's been decided that the mother's charges in regard to the situation will NOT be dropped, and she's up for a count of second degree murder. There's also now a sort of legal movement starting, and we're trying to get a bill started to pass a law at least in our state that will hopefully spread to the rest of the nation, to have harsher punishments enacted for cases of child abuse, the murder of children, and for child endangerment, which, if it's passed, will be called Dominick's Law after the poor little boy.

Second order of business is a **POLL**.  
Not an important poll though. Not to you guys, anyway. I find myself highly annoyed at the fact that there is nowhere on FF that I can access and see how many people are watching this story/consistently read it/have added it to favorite lists/ect. It doesn't really matter, but I'm curious. The most logical thing I can think to do it set a poll in my profile, and hope that you guys are going to feel awesome enough to run over there and do it for me. SO. If you could all pretty please pop over to my profile and hit up that poll, I would really appreciate it. Thanks in advance. 3 Please note, however, that if you don't have a registered account to the site, you can't vote in the poll. Don't worry, though; If you've reviewed more than once and don't have an account, I more than likely recognize the name that you used when submitting the reviews. ;)  
In case you didn't know and it matters to you for some reason, poll results are confidential and I won't know who votes for what options.

This chapter's not as awesome as I'm sure you guys expected, or as I'd hoped, being set in a renaissance festival and all, but I hope you'll like it alright anyway. Any details I come up with as far as the individual people (aside from physical appearance, if I happen to have seen a picture, and names) or shows at the festival is almost totally me pulling things out of my ass, by the way, because I've never actually been to this particular fair.

**Dedications **(In addition to the ones from the first part of this chapter)**- **  
**All you amazing people who took the time to try and make me feel better about everything going on**. There's too many names to list everyone individually, but you all know who you are, and you really have my sincerest gratitude for being so sweet.  
**AuralBlackWolf**, who has once again showered me with fanart, which you can see in her DA gallery at Lawlietlover . deviantart. com  
**Ellarose C**, who has also deemed fit to do fanart, and you can see hers in her DA gallery also, at Luna-wannabe . deviantart. com

Sorry for the huge author's note. xD On to the chapter that you've all waited so patiently for!  


* * *

-

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'? It's totally perfect!"

"Alfred. _No_."

It was early- Seven in the morning, early. The Mayfaire Renaissance Festival opened its doors at ten, and Alfred was determined to be there before anyone else, which meant waking up plenty early to get into proper fair garb, catch breakfast, and get to the Marshall Fairgounds. It was supposed to be a nice day; Sunny, with partial cloud coverage, though a bit on the chilly side. It was hard to tell just now if the weather would pull through for them, what with the sun only just now starting to peek over the horizon, but they were certainly hoping.

"Well, why the hell not?"

"I _refuse_ to be seen with you running around dressed as a god-forsaken _Disney character_."

"Tch. Don't act like that, I know for a fact that you liked those movies."

"They were _tolerable_ for having come from your country, but that is entirely beside the point. I'll not have you romping about dressed as Jack bloody Sparrow."

"Why not? It's a good costume! I got it all special made and everything so it wouldn't be all cheap-looking!"

It really _was_ a very nicely put-together costume; It looked like it could have come straight from the movie set- Except for the fake black dread locks. The outfit was an exact replica, right down to the buttons on the coat.

"It's _predictable, _unimaginative, and _stupid_. This isn't one of Kiku's conventions, you twat, it's not for cosplaying."

"Well that's too damn bad. We don't have time for me to run around hunting for things to slap together something new, so you're just going to have to deal with it." Alfred huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, pouting. He'd _thought_ that Arthur would approve of the sloppily intricate costume, but apparently _not_.

Arthur scrutinized him, the knuckle of one of his index fingers caught between his teeth as he considered and calculated. Arthur himself had yet to change out of his pajamas, having been confronted immediately upon waking with Alfred dressed up as the popular Disney pirate. "No. No, I'm sure I can make this acceptable. Come here."

Alfred sighed, exasperated, and stepped towards the bed as Arthur wrangled himself free of the blankets, and stood with his arms held out from his sides obligingly so Arthur had better access to… well, whatever he needed access to. Leave it to Arthur to insist on ruining a perfectly awesome copy of Jack Sparrow's costume design. Kiku would have been horrified, Alfred was sure.

The first thing Arthur did was tear off the wig, tossing it off to the side somewhere, inadvertently taking the red bandana and tri-corner hat along with it, then tore the beaded dangles from the bandana and re-affixed it over Alfred's hair before plopping the hat back on top. He moved on to tug Alfred out of his over-coat, leaving him in the thin white peasant blouse, dark brown vest, and knotted beige waist-sash, then pealed the fingerless gloves off the American's hands. Finding that he could do nothing with the grey-green pants or the brown boots, he skipped over those to rifle through his suitcase for his miniature sewing kit, using the tiny sheers there to slice several feet in length off the ends of the waist-sash, which had, prior to trimming, nearly dragged on the floor. He let one of the huge, bulky belts to loop around Alfred's hips, as well as the (empty, as the fair didn't allow firearms) gun and cutlass holsters, but the second belt, crossed over his chest, was tossed away, making a heavy thunk when it hit the floor somewhere off to the left. He used the cuttings from the sash to wrap Alfred's palms and wrists, making Alfred wonder why he'd bothered to take away the gloves, but he wasn't going to complain if he was going to get what he suspected would be a very long explanation, then unclasped the compass that was hooked onto the remaining belt.

Arthur stepped back for a moment to look him over, then snatched Texas off Alfred's face, folding them up and setting them on the vanity. "You've contacts with you, yes? Wear those." He instructed, but grabbed Alfred by the ear and forced him to lean down, preventing him from moving.

"Ouch! Jeez, don't yank on my ears like that! What are you doing?"

"The right one is pierced." The Englishman observed, rather than answering the posed question.

"Er, yeah. Y'know, dudes getting a hole or two popped in their ears was a huge thing not too long ago, so they could wear those big ol' diamond studs. I don't really ever put jewelry in it anymore, though."

"Has it closed?"

"Naw, I don't think so."

"Good." Arthur released him to go searching through his suitcase again. "Find your contacts and put them in."

Alfred rubbed at his ear and spared Arthur a fleeting glare while he located his contact lenses, wondering how the hell Arthur'd even known that he _had_ them. After all, he didn't ever actually wear them; He only kept them around in case, god forbid, he managed to break Texas. None the less, he dug them out of his bag and went to apply them in the bathroom, nearly smacking into the door frame on his way in. When he returned, Arthur was seated on the bed, a small wood box sitting in his lap.

"Oi, come over here and sit down." Arthur beckoned him, pulling a lighter and an eyeliner pencil from the box.

"..You carry makeup around with you? Who are you, Poland?" He dropped on top of the bed and shifted to sit cross-legged directly in front of the other nation, rightly assuming that he'd be the one on the receiving end of the pencil.

"No. Shut up and close your eyes."

"What's the lighter for?"

"I'm going to burn random patches of skin off your face so as to give the appearance of leprosy."

"W-what?!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and uncapped the pencil, holding the sharpened edge over the lighter and flicking the flame to life. "It's for the liner, you dolt. It's easier to smudge if it's warm, now close your damn eyes."

Alfred did as he was asked and Arthur leaned forward, putting a thin lining of black around the edges of Alfred's eyes, then blending it out with thumb. When he was done, he replaced the items into the box they'd come from, digging out a small, golden hoop earring and several glittering chains. He looped the chains around Alfred's neck, clasping them in the back, then carefully threaded the loop through the pierced ear and snapped it shut.

"There you are." Arthur brushed his hands of imaginary dust and stood, checking over his work. "That's marginally more passable. You don't look quite so much like a Disney character wannabe."

"Yeah, okay. You know you totally just pulled apart a not-even-kind-of-cheap costume, right?"

"You shouldn't have wasted the money, then."

"Whatever, it was awesome. You should get changed so we can get something to eat before we take off."

Arthur shrugged a bit and hauled his suitcase into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. While Arthur was getting dressed, Alfred took the time to pick through a brochure he'd gotten from the front desk to find a place for them to eat breakfast, then called a taxi company to pre-arrange having them picked up from the eatery and taken to the fairground at nine-thirty.

The Brit emerged from the bathroom some fifteen minutes later, fluffing the extravagant plumes of his tri-corner hat, which was jet black rimmed with gold and had a Jolly Roger stitched proudly on the front face of it **(1)**, before he placed it upon his head. His dark scarlet overcoat was trimmed in gold as well, ruffled sleeves peeking out from beneath the cuffs at his wrists. The coat was left open to show off the orange-yellow waistcoat over top his ivory-white blouse, which was stitched with detailed swirling designs in white thread, and a cravat was secured around his throat, decorated with a gleaming emerald broach. Layered over his hips was a thick brown leather belt with a clunky metal buckle, a black sash that knotted over his left pelvic bone, and a leather dual holster meant to carry a cutlass and pistol. His faded grey-black pants were loose over his thighs, only enough so to allow easy movement, and tucked into the tall dark boots that came very nearly to Arthur's knees. To match Alfred, despite the fact that he certainly had _not_ done it back when he was plundering the seas of their treasures, Arthur had lined his eyes with the charcoal makeup as well, making the biohazard green of his irises pop even stronger than they normally would.

Jewelry was the finishing touch; Not just the bejeweled rings adorning several of his fingers, but a total of nine shiny studs and rings pushed through his ears. The left had a low-hanging ring accompanied by two small studs in the lobe, two more tiny loops higher up the rim in the cartilage there, the right with two rings in the lobe and two more studs at the top curve of the ear, all polished to a bright golden luster.

Incidentally, Alfred had a bit of a hard taking in the rest of the outfit when the piercings caught his attention. "Holy shit, England! How many piercings do you _have_?"

"Mm? Ah, I think there's…" He took a moment to think, counting off in his head. "Thirteen, all in all? Yes, that sounds right."

"Seriously? _Jesus_. Where are the other four?"

"My tongue and lip have been done. I don't think I really ought to discuss the other two in polite company. Though, I suppose _you_ don't count as polite company anyway."

Alfred couldn't help but go a little slack-jawed, staring at Arthur dumbstruck while his brain came to the worst conclusions possible.

"Don't give me that look. You're the one who asked, I'm merely saving you from minor mental trauma by refusing to elaborate."

"I don't think you _need_ to elaborate! I'm pretty sure the answer is kind of obvious- And seriously _disturbing_!"

"Don't be absurd, it's nothing as dramatic as what I'm sure you're thinking- And for fuck's sake, get your mind out of the gutter."

"Well what am I _supposed_ to think, when you say you shouldn't talk about it in 'polite company'? There are only so many places a body piercing can go from there, y'know."

"Actually, you'd be surprised. People have come up with a lot of strange places to pierce. Mine are very common these days, it just isn't particularly gentlemanly to speak of them. By my standards, at the least; I'm sure that most wouldn't even bat an eyelash. If I were inclined, I could show them to anyone one on the street and not get charged with indecent exposure or anything of the sort."

"So… They're not anywhere near your, ah, _vital regions…_?"

"No, certainly not. I've never been quite _that_ crazy."

"Thank god for small favors."

"Shut it. Did you pick somewhere to eat?"

"Ah, yeah. Called us a taxi to pick us up from the restaurant, too, so we should probably get a move on."

**-**

~*~  


* * *

**(1)** The captain of a pirate/privateer ship, traditionally (so far as I know), would have the Jolly Roger sewn into the front of his hat for easy identification and separation from his crew. There is not a single doubt in my mind that if Arthur were on a ship, he would either be captain right from the beginning, or start a mutiny, assume the position of captain, have the prior captain locked in the brig (which, in case you didn't know, is technically a type of ship, but is very often now used as a term for the prison area of a ship, because of the US Navy and Coast Guard having once used the Brig ships as prisoners ships), and then rule the crew with an iron fist. And grog.

* * *

~*~  
-

To Arthur's great confusion, hardly anyone so much as spared a second glance at them while they took the leisurely stroll into town to the eatery Alfred had selected for their breakfast. No one so much as batted an eyelash at them, even when they arrived at their destination and walked into somewhat posh-looking diner.

"This is a festival town, Artie." Alfred explained as they took their seats at a small window booth. "This time of the year, it's totally normal for people to run around looking like this on the days that the fair is open. Hell, you can even get service without wearing shoes in a gas station; No one will say a thing. They're just used to it, y'know?"

"Seems like an odd thing to get used to." Arthur pointed out, picking up his menu.

"Nah. Michigan especially is really into the Renaissance fairs. You should see the one in Holly that they have in the fall; The fairgrounds are permanent there, and it's so big that people will come in from all over the country just to go for the weekend. Or from over my brother's place, even. It's a pretty big deal, so when that time of year rolls around, the locals always know to expect people showing up in period dress. It's as normal as… uh.."

"People going round in costumes on Halloween?"

"Yeah! Just like that. No one thinks twice about it."

Arthur hummed quietly in understanding. It wasn't long before a very effeminate waiter came around, all valley-girl talk while he took their orders and complimented them on their, 'Like, so totally killer' ensembles, and Arthur's '_Seriously_ adorable, fer sure' accent, making the people at the tables nearby look on in amazement when they actually understood everything the boy said to them with ease.

The meal was easy and companionable, spent making idle chit-chat between (or, in Alfred's case, during) bites, picking things off one another's plates, and arguing over the petty little things they always fought over during down-time together, such as who's country made the better movies, and which of them produced the more talented musicians. One such argument, the age-old debate of the proper name for international football, resulted in a small war of chucking ice cubes from their water glasses at each other across the table, which ended ten minutes in when Alfred managed to nail a balding old man who was sitting at the booth directly behind Arthur in the back of the head with one of the improvised projectiles. This earned them a stern, extensive lecture from the man about the lack of respect in today's youth, and they had a horrible time trying to hold back their laughter; After all, Alfred was easily three times the guy's age, and Arthur'd been around who knows how much longer before that. They were escorted out of the building not long after that, when the obviously gay waiter decided to cop a feel of Arthur's rear end while they were at the front counter paying their bill, and Arthur had nearly pummeled the boy while hollering accusations of him having French lineage.

"Englaaand~" Alfred whined while they sat on the curb in front of the diner, waiting for their cab to show up, "I'm bored."

"How is that my bloody problem?"

"Well, I'm going to have to entertain myself by irritating the hell out of you if you don't do something about it. I'd say that makes it your problem."

"You honestly can't just sit here and be quiet for the ten minutes it'll take for our cab?"

"Psh. No."

Arthur sighed. "Fine. What exactly do you propose I do, then?"

"Ah… Oh! Teach me a pirate song!"

"You can't learn anything in a reasonable amount of time. We'll be here all day."

"Then _sing_ me a pirate song."

"Which?"

"I don't know; _I_ wasn't a pirate."

Arthur thought for a moment, then shrugged. "We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot; Drink up, me hearties, yo-ho! We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot; Drink up, me hearties yo-ho; Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me! We extort, we pilfer, we filch and sack; Drink up, me hearties, yo-ho; Maraud and embezzle and even hijack; Drink up, me hearties, yo-ho-"

"That's _so_ not a real pirate song." Alfred interrupted, "I'm pretty sure Disney wrote it."

"They did. You didn't ask for a _real_ shanty, just a pirate song."

"You knew what I meant, you jerk. Sing me a real one."

There was another pause as Arthur sifted through his mental files, then settled on a tune and started singing again. "When I was a youngster, I sailed with the rest- On a Liverpool packet, bound to the West. We anchored one day in the harbor of Cork, then put out to sea for the port of New York, an' it's ho! Ro! Ho, bullies, ho! The Liverpool girls have got us in tow! For thirty-two days we was hungry an' sore; The wind was against us and gales did they roar, but at Battery Point we did anchor at last, with the jib-boom hove in an' the canvas all fast. The boarding house masters was off in a trice, an' shouting an' promising all things that was nice; An' one fat old crimp, he got cotton to me, an' he said I was foolish to follow the sea. Says he, 'There's a job as is waiting for you, with lashings of liquor an' nothing to do. Now what do ya' say, lad, will you jump her too?', Says I, 'Y'old beggar, I'm damned if I do!' **(1)**- Ah." He stopped himself, and gestured to the yellow taxi coming up the road. "That'll be ours, then, I'm sure."

"… You have a whole song about telling someone to fuck off?" Alfred asked and stood, heaving the Englishman up by his hand helpfully.

"Oh, no. That's not the end of it. It's actually about having drugs put in one's drink, being kidnapped while unconscious, and tricked by the old man into doing that job the subject said he wouldn't. It's a song with a moral."

"_What_ moral?"

"It is, 'Pay attention to what you're drinking when in the company of Americans, lest you get slipped something'."

" …Wow. Thanks for that. Good to know y'all thought so highly of my people."

"I thought you might enjoy it." Arthur ducked into the back of the cab when it pulled to a stop in front of them, Alfred popping in right behind him. "I could do American Idiot next, if you like. Personally I rather like that one, having come from one of your own bands and all."

"Do it and I'll start singing My Country Tis of Thee. I _know_ you hate that song." He closed the door behind them and the driver started them on their way, knowing already where they were meant to go.

"Because it's blasphemy; Violating my national anthem that way."

"I guess you better not do Green Day then, huh?"

"That's not even on the same level. Thieving my national anthem and making it into a song about _your_ country? It's hardly the same thing as reciting an original song about how cocked-up you are."

"Well, I could do Baby Britain instead."

"Go on, then; I like that song."

"You do know that it's about you being an alcoholic, right? _And_ it calls you a girl."

"It's _about_ a girl, you lummox. Calling her 'Britain' is a metaphor."

"No it's not. You're just mad because you're a drunk."

"_You_ don't know how to interpret music because you're a prat."

In the front of the car, the driver wondered to himself about how he always managed to get stuck with squabbling basket-cases. These ones seemed to be under the impression that they were _countries_, for fuck's sake! He really needed to find a better job.

Their ride didn't take very long. In no time at all they were pulling down a bumpy dirt road, surrounded by trees on either side. There were other cars in front of theirs- A surprisingly long line of them, actually, considering the fact that the fair wasn't even open just yet. Apparently Alfred wasn't the only one determined to get there before the doors were open. The taxi brought them up to a dirt walkway, and Alfred paid their tab before they stepped out.

The area was something of a cleared space in the middle of a small forest, and the scent of tree sap hung in the air heavily while the nations made their way down the path to a tall wooden fence that encircled the fair grounds, the trees blocking out the sun here and there. Small ticket booths were set up near the closed front gate, where a middle-aged woman decked out in layered skirts and a bodice sold Alfred and Arthur their entrance passes. A fair sized group of people were gathered up there, chatting excitedly amongst themselves, and more arrived by the minute. Very nearly everyone was dressed up for the occasion, and those who weren't were on the receiving end of some serious disapproving glances. The gathering was made up predominantly of people around the nations' physical ages, but there were variations; Graying men costumed as bards, married couples with young children, several sets of younger teens bouncing on the balls of their feet, all waiting for the front gates to open and release them into the anachronistic playground.

The collection of waiting people swelled almost to triple digits by the time a man stepped to the gate and began unlocking the chain that held it shut, a cheer of glee ripping through the crowd when it was finally thrown open to admit them. The two blondes filed together with the group as they formed a loose line, handing their passes off to the waiting gatekeepers before being ushered into the grounds.

The immediate area behind the gate was open for some ways, the ground all well-beaten dirt with scattered patches of grass. Near to the center of the space, before it started into areas occupied by small set-up booths, stood a plump woman dressed in an intricate dark blue gown, next to a man in upper-class period wear of a matching color, both wearing crowns atop their heads and surrounded by a small entourage of men in matching tan and green uniforms, emblems of shield stitched into the front of their shirts. Much of the inflowing group of people slowed to stand near to the figures, many even going so far as to bow or curtsy.

"Ah! That's the King and Queen!" Alfred explained, unneeded, pointing towards the 'royalty'.

"No. Really? I never would have guessed." Arthur rolled his eyes a bit.

"Hey, a lot of people could show up dressed as princesses or kings or whatever. Those are the fair's _official_ ones. C'mon, we should go say hello!" He grabbed Arthur's arm and started dragging him in the appropriate direction.

"Why? They aren't actual royalty."

"Yeah, but it's in the spirit of the fair, y'know?"

"Yes, alright, fine. It couldn't hurt anything at any rate, so long as you don't expect me to swear fealty or summat."

"Nah, nothing like that." When they got to the man and woman, Alfred bowed exaggeratedly, then shook both of their hands so violently that they were forced to hold onto their crowns with their free hands to keep them from flying right off their heads. "Hey, you guys! Great day to rule a kingdom, huh?" He greeted them cheerfully with a big smile.

"Ah… Good morrow, dear subject." The faux Queen smiled, obviously a little shaken by the enthusiastic boy. "How fare thee on this glorious day?"

Arthur gave his blue-eyed companion a thwack on the head, hissing a bit under his breath, "It's a good thing they're _not_ actual royalty, you twat. If you're going to insist on greeting them, at least do it properly." He swept his plumed hat off his head and took a bow himself, much more gracefully, then took the woman's right hand to kiss a ring there. Without rising from his slight bow, he fell flawlessly into proper Elizabethan lingo, "I cry your mercy on behalf of this brazen, beef-witted lout, Majesty. Ne'er ere has he been so blessed as to bask in the company of one such as yourself."

She brightened visibly and corrected her posture to stand more straightly. "Pray rise, good privateer, and fear not for thy companion; All is forgiven."

"Many thanks, Your Grace." Arthur said as he stood to his full height again. "Alas, this poor fool and I must away, and so, by your leave."

"Aye, as you will, my fine lad."

Arthur took another small bow, nudging Alfred to do the same, then replaced his hat and hauled the boy away, further into the fair grounds.

"Damn, Artie, you're pretty good at that! I bet you could work here."

"I've had a lot of practice. Though, really, I'm not _obligated_ to address a queen so formally. A queen might be royalty, but of course, she'd have nothing to rule over if not for the nations. I've always just done it out of courtesy. Now, what is it that we're to do first?"

"Aw, how cute; You think there's a _plan_. You don't work out a schedule for these things, England." He patted Arthur on the shoulder condescendingly and snickered.

Arthur was significantly less amused, slapping the other boy's hand away from him. "And why the hell not? It'd be more efficient. We could make sure we got around to seeing everything."

"Festivals aren't about _efficiency_, Art. We just run around, have fun, and drop in on as many of the shows as we can between shopping, eating, and wandering around! We've got something like eight hours, we'll be able to cover everything."

"Fine, but if we miss something you wanted to get to, I reserve the right to slap you when you inevitably start whinging about it."

"We won't miss anything, it's fine." Alfred gave a self-assured smile, then selected a direction at random, and off they went.

Their first order of business turned out to be having their pictures taken.

Not that the _fair_ offered any sort of photography. Rather, they were stopped repeatedly by other fairgoers, who unabashedly pleaded for them to hold still and be captured on digital cameras while gushing about their amazing costumes. Arthur was torn between thinking the strangers horribly rude and being somewhat flattered, but it didn't matter much either way; Alfred was quick to yank the smaller nation into poses for anyone who asked, grinning like an idiot. Arthur scowled at the cameras, but everyone seemed to think that it was for show and ignored it, so at length, he gave up on communicating his irritation.

Some of the people even seemed to think that they worked at the festival, asking when they'd be going on stage or to which shop they were employed. To Arthur's serious displeasure, several of those who stopped them found it necessary to speak in utterly atrocious fake accents, asking how he'd managed to get his own down so perfectly ("I'm _British_ you twit!" He would tell them, and for some reason, it only ever seemed to make them want to talk to him _more_). Alfred tried to assure him that this sort of bold behavior was expected at the Renaissance festivals of Michigan, and that really, the women were probably disappointed that Arthur wasn't relentlessly hitting on them, as is also customary, most especially for those dressed as pirates, but Arthur'd have none of it. He was all too suspicious that several of the women would try to hold him to any jesting comments about plundering booty.

When Alfred started to fear that Arthur was near to the end of his fuse and would soon explode at the poor, well-meaning strangers, he lead them to the nearest stage to take in one of the shows that the fair had to offer. It so happened that the one they came upon was a rather amazing one, performed by a male and female pirate-garbed duo. The two were a sort of stunt act, awing their audience with such feats as treading over glass barefoot, fire swallowing and dancing, and small displays of endurance. When it came near to the end of their hour-long display, they requested an assistant from the audience.

Alfred, being the sort of boy that he is, jumped for the opportunity immediately. The young woman pulled Alfred from the crowd and led him up to the stage, spinning him to face the other spectators as the man circled around him appraisingly.

"Well ye seem like a fit young lad!" Sylver- The male of the pair- Announced, and Alfred took a moment to smile smugly in Arthur's direction.

"Yeah, I try to keep myself in shape." He shrugged, faking modesty.

"An' a fellow buccaneer, no less!" Gwyd, the woman, interjected. "What's it that yer called, matey?"

"I'm Alfred F. Jones!" He smiled broadly, only narrowly catching himself before adding 'The Hero' to the end of his name; It just wouldn't have been pirate-y.

"Now tell us, Jones: Are ye a brave man?" Sylver asked him.

"The bravest!"

Arthur rolled his eyes from his seat.

"Excellent!" Gwyd cheered, and stepped away to one side of the stage, extracting an eight-foot-long, menacing black bull which from a prop treasure chest. The crowd instantly burst into applause at the sight of it, and the woman twirled it around her feet as she waited for them to settle before continuing. "Then I don't suppose ye're afraid of a wee whip like this, are ye?"

"'Course not." Alfred confirmed, and just as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Gwyd lashed the leather thing out, cracking it directly above his head, making him jump a bit in surprise. The audience laughed joyously at the contradiction to his former statement, absolutely howling.

"Not afraid, aye?" Sylver jabbed, snickering behind his hand.

"She just caught me off guard, is all." Alfred huffed a bit. He'd worked with whips himself back in his cowboy years, after all; He knew very well they were nothing to be afraid of in the right hands.

"So ye're still up for assistin' us?"

"Yep! You can count on me." He gave a thumbs-up, winking at the crowd with his natural showmanship.

"Wonderful! Take this, then," Sylver produced a long-stemmed rose seemingly out of nowhere and deposited it into Alfred's. "An' hold your arm straight out in front of ye."

Alfred did as he was asked, holding the flower out perpendicular to himself by the very end of the stem. Gwyd bid the audience to count aloud to three, and when they hit the last number, she flicked her whip out, snapping the bloom of the flower clean off the stem in a shower of petals. The crowd absolutely roared.

"Very good, Jones! Ye didn't even flinch that time! Now let's step it up a notch." The man brought out another rose, then pulled a small knife from his pocket and sliced the long stem in half before handing it over to the nation. "Hold it jus' as ye did a'fore."

Once again, Alfred held the rose away from himself, and the two performers led their spectators in another count before Gwyd cracked her whip and sent petals flying once again, to their watchers' continued glee.

"Perfect, perfect!" Gwyd congratulated. "Ye've been a great sport, Jonesy. We've time for jus' one more a'fore the end of the show; Would ye be so kind as to indulge us?"

"I'm at your mercy, babe. Bring it on."

"Spectacular! Everyone, a hand for mister Alfred Jones!" The onlookers obediently applauded, and Sylver came up with yet another of the flowers. This one, too, he trimmed a bit with his pocket knife, leaving the stem about eight inches long. "Now, this time we'll be doin' somethin' jus' a tad different. After all, what sort of show would it be without something grand to finish it off?"

"Not a very good one at all!" The woman proclaimed.

"Not very good indeed! So, we'll need ye to stand right here, real straight-like." Sylver pulled Alfred onto a marked 'X' shape on the floor of the stage, pushing the blonde's shoulders back to correct his posture. "An' then hold this here flower by the end jus' as ye've been doin'… Only in yer teeth."

"But!" Gwyd interrupted before the audience could start in, "That ain't all. I'm also going to be…" She paused for dramatic effect, then yanked a sash from around her waist in one sharp tug. "Blindfolded!"

This time the fans were allowed their whoops and cheers, Sylver waiting until they quieted to speak again. "What d'ye say, lad? Still feelin' courageous?"

"Ah…" Alfred looked over to the female pirate a little wearily. Sure, she seemed like she was probably skilled enough, but this was his _face_ he'd be putting in jeopardy here. He could take a lash on one of his limbs, but whips could leave some nasty scars, and he _liked_ his face, thanks very much.

"You really shouldn't put so much faith in that boy's backbone." Arthur taunted from his place among the rest of the observers, drawing everyone's attention. "He's all bark. Don't fret, Alfred; If you're too much of a nancy, I'll come up and do it for you."

The nation on stage bristled. Arthur was wearing an irritating little grin, so Alfred _knew_ he was being baited, but… Well, now his pride was on the line! "The hell you are, eyebrows! Gimme that thing." Alfred snatched the shortened rose from Sylver's hand, chomping down on the end of the stem and standing up straight.

The people watching went into another round of applause while Gwyd secured the sash around her eyes and readied herself. "Alright, me hearties!" She called to the crowd, "Count with me once more- Down from five this time. Five!" She started them, and started the whip in a swing above her head.

Alfred took a deep breath-

"Four!"

-Held it, and closed his eyes-

"Three!"

-Clenched his jaw, just a little…

"Two!"

-And yelped, high-pitched as a dog who's tail got stepped on, when the braid of leather snapped the flower clean in half not but five inches from his face, one beat sooner than it was meant to and far closer than he'd expected.

A joint startled gasp, and even one or two small screams, sounded from audience at the surprise, after which was a short moment of stunned silence. Then, all at once, they exploded into excited shrieks of delight, clapping wildly while they hailed the stunt, many going so far as to rise and give a standing ovation.

"Thank you, thank you!" Gwyd called over the noise, taking off her blindfold.

"Take a bow, mister Jones!" Sylver patted the still-somewhat-shaken nation on the back, handing him the intact bloom of the flower on its two-inch stem.

Alfred accepted the little token and pulled a smile- One less enthusiastic than was his norm, but a smile none the less- And opted instead to tip his hat to the hollering spectators. Gwyd came to join her partner in giving Alfred their thanks for his good humor and assistance, both performers shaking his hand before they brought their show to a close and Alfred hopped off the stage to make his way through the retreating crowd back to Arthur.

Arthur was wearing an altogether-too-pleased smile when Alfred reached him. "Congratulations; I see you managed not to piss yourself. Although I must admit I'm a bit disappointed that you didn't scream like a little girl."

"Hey, screw you. You're lucky I didn't let you get up there and do it; You probably would have dropped dead of a heart attack. I just saved your life."

"Please. If you paid more attention, you would have seen it coming. People always plan to pull something if they alter a constant in their routine, like having everyone count to a different number than they had been the whole rest of the show."

"Yeah, whatever." Alfred glanced at the red flower he'd been gifted, then tucked it in with the plumes on Arthur's hat. "You so would have keeled over. Or hit someone and gotten us booted out of the fair."

"Oh, certainly. I _would_ terribly like to be forcibly removed from a festivity that I'd traveled some thirteen hours to attend. That's right on the very top of my 'to do' list."

"Wouldn't matter if you _wanted_ to get kicked out. We all know how bad your temper is." He patted Arthur on the shoulder, then pointed off somewhere to their right. "Let's go see what's over that way."

They took in another show- This one more of a demonstration- Done by the resident blacksmith of Angel Forge on the process of making a broadsword, and when it neared to noon, opted to find some appropriate lunch. Though there were burgers available, Alfred surprised his partner in crime by foregoing them and deciding instead that they should partake of the traditional Ren-Fest food: Disturbingly huge turkey legs. They ate on the sidelines of Her Majesty's Royal Guard, a combat display done by men in full knights armor with actual and very dangerous weapons, taking up a small bet between the two of them over which of the opponents would win (Arthur lost, and was forced to begrudgingly buy the both of them a treat of shaved ice cones).

After they were through with that, they wandered about the varied shops the grounds had to offer, Arthur nearly constantly needing to prevent Alfred from making such absurd purchases as battle axes, chainmail, and marshmallow blow guns. The American did manage to sneak away long enough to get his hands on an ocarina, but Arthur confiscated it after only fifteen minutes of listening to Alfred's thoroughly failed attempts at playing the small ceramic wind-instrument. At Alfred's insistence, they even got some henna tattoos done: A matching set of intricate lotus **(2)** flower designs on the inside of their right forearms.

When Arthur wandered into an herbalism shop, Alfred very swiftly lost interest in his companion's strange babblings of tinctures and potions to the woman behind the counter. "Hey, Art, I'm gunna poke around the other places by here, okay? I don't share your fascination with dried flowers."

Arthur paused in his discussion to wave the younger boy off. "Yes, that's fine. Don't buy anything stupid. You've got your phone with you?"

"Yeah, _mom_, I have my phone." He rolled his eyes.

"Off with you, then. I'll bell when I've finished."

Alfred gave a bit of a wave before he sauntered away, selecting a direction at random and heading out. His immediate goal was to find something absurd to spend money on, almost strictly because he'd been told specifically not to. The first most useless thing he happened to come across was a remarkably life-like little latex dragon puppet, designed to sit on one's shoulder and be operated by a trigger control that could be tucked and hidden under clothing. Delighted by the small toy, and figuring that it had a fifty-fifty chance of falling under Arthur's definition of a stupid purchase- He'd either find it idiotic and childish, or think it totally darling. Sometimes it was hard to tell when it came to Arthur and things that imitate mythical creatures- He bought one in brown straight away, set it up on his left shoulder, and continued on his aimless wandering.

He ended up procuring, on top of the toy, a small crystal suncatcher cut into the shape of a star on a long cord (Not for himself. It was for Arthur, because he remembered the Brit having said something about those imaginary pixies of his liking things that sparkled. Shut up, he was being thoughtful.), a circular silver pendant that had a raised eagle design on the front, and a neat-looking glass chalice with carved celtic knots around the rim before he happened upon something of a small tent made of purple crushed velvet.

The wooden sign stabbed into the ground in front proclaimed it to belong to a soothsayer, and inside was stout middle-aged woman in fancy robes sitting at a round wooden table, surrounded by varied divination paraphernalia. She looked up when she felt eyes on her and gave Alfred a genial smile. "Care to have your fortune told, love?" She asked, gesturing vaguely around her, "I'm doing predictions on the house today."

Alfred shrugged to himself and ducked into the tent. After all, he might not put any stock into this hocus-pocus business, but hey. If it wasn't going to cost him anything, there was no reason to turn it down. "Sure, why not?"

"Wonderful." The woman tugged the flap of the tent closed when Alfred took his seat in the chair opposite of her on the other side of the table, immersing the pair of them in moderate darkness until she lit two candle sticks perched on the tabletop with a match. "Do you have a preference?"

"For what?"

"For your method of predictions, of course."

"Uh.. No, not really. I mean, I don't know anything about this stuff. If my friend was here, he'd know which one was better, but I ditched him at some dried flower shop. He'd probably be thrilled if he knew I was talking to you at all; These things aren't really my cup of tea, but he's real into the whole magic deal."

"I see. Well, the most common methods are palm reading and tarot cards. Which would you rather?"

"Er…The card one, I guess?" He's seen those in a lot of movies, after all.

"All right. Is there anything you're especially keen on asking about?" She asked as she extracted a black pouch from a pocket of her robes.

Alfred considered it for a moment, and gave another shrug. "Not really. Do I _need_ to have a question?"

"It's very helpful, but not vital. I can do a general reading. Are you ready, then?"

"Sure thing. Lay it on me."

The woman pulled a well-loved looking set of long cards from her pouch, and separated a small section on the top from the rest, tucking the larger group away again. "Since this is a basic inquiry, we'll just use the major arcana."

"Ah, okay." Alfrd nodded a bit, wondering if he really ought to have any idea what she was talking about.

The self-proclaimed soothsayer ran the remaining cards through several different shuffles that Alfred was sure could impress even some of the more flashy dealers in a casino. At length, she seemed satisfied and fanned them out face-down in front of herself in a smooth arc. "I'll have you select a three of these, whichever you'd like, one at a time." She explained, "We'll lay them out in order, face down and then when you're done I'll flip them one at a time, interpret them, and explain what it is they represent for you. There's no need to rush, so choose each one carefully. Understand?"

"Yeah, sounds easy enough."

"Lovely. Take your pick, then."

The American looked the spread of cards over carefully for a moment, then decided that his awesome instincts would do just fine in guiding him, and pulled three of the cards away from the rest- Two from near to the left end of the line-up, and the very last card on the right end. Being careful of the order he'd picked them, he slid them into a line chronologically and looked to the woman expectantly.

"Ah, very good, dear. I feel that these will have been very good choices for you. Now," She overturned the first card, revealing a picture of what looked like a white castle spire, only it was on _fire_, getting hit by a bolt of lightning, and there were people leaping out of the windows. 'The Tower' was written near the bottom in bold print.

Alfred wasn't feeling so great about his first choice, if the picture was anything to go by.

"Oh no, sweets, don't fret." The fortune-teller soothed at noticing the skeptical look on the boy's face. "It's not a bad card, really. This is number sixteen, The Tower. It means that something unexpected is going to happen, or that you'll make a pleasant discovery by accident. It could also mean that you'll find yourself in a new or unusual environment soon. It symbolizes swift and dramatic transition for your overall good, even if the change seems problematic or bad at first." She tapped a finger on the card absently. "It's certainly nothing as horrible as the art might make it seem."

"It's a good thing it's not, or I think I'd definitely have to regret coming in here." Alfred eyed the card wearily, hoping that his supposed 'dramatic transition' wouldn't be anywhere near as unpleasant as whatever was going on in that picture.

She flipped over the next card in line, this one decorated with much more pleasantly with a woman, possibly a princess or queen, in a roman style dress who was petting a curly-haired lion over a simple landscape backdrop. This one, too, had the name of the card across the bottom; Apparently it was standard to the deck. "Ah, this is Strength, card number eight. It stands for courage and patience in the face of adversity. This one could be an indication of your loved ones- Someone, or several people, that you can rely on for support; Those who will be by your side to help you fight your personal battles. It also suggests that any unpleasant problems you may have with others presently, or even those of the past that were never properly addressed and continue to cause bitterness between yourself and the other parties involved, should be confronted head-on and worked through with patience and understanding."

Alfred wrinkled his nose. "I'm not fighting with anyone, though." He paused, considering the fact that his country, and therefore himself, was still currently at war. "Well, yeah, okay. I'm fighting with a few people, but I'd definitely say that I'm takin' care of business and being plenty foreword about it. And anyway, I'm not the kind of guy that really holds grudges for long, so I'm not _bitter_."

"I never said that _you_ were the one still feeling animosity. In your case, I'd say that it's more likely to have been an unpleasant occurrence that's already been patched over, but never properly discussed and worked out. You don't seem like the sort who'd…How should I put it? Who'd willingly put themselves in the position to deal with the messy emotions brought on by a touchy subject. You come off more as the 'retaliate against those who you feel have wronged you, then forgive and forget when you feel like you've properly established that you won't be taking any shit'- Excuse my French- type."

"…I guess. What are you, a psychologist?"

The woman laughed. "Oh no, dear, just very good at personality profiling. It comes with the territory. Ready for the last one?"

"Yeah, okay; Go ahead." He consented. She turned the last card, and Alfred openly cringed.

Oh, he'd seen that one before in plenty of horror flicks. On the face was a skeleton in armor, bearing a black flag with a design that looked suspiciously like Arthur's Tudor Rose, riding a white horse over a man's body with two children and what looked like a priest kneeling in front of it. Like the others, this card held its name proudly over the bottom edge, reading 'Death'- But, strangely, it was turned upside-down, the lettering facing towards the woman rather than himself, as the other two cards had been. All the same, it was easy to recognize, and the nation didn't like it one bit.

"Ah, look," Alfred started nervously, making a move to stand from the seat he'd taken, "I don't think that-"

"Sit down, love, sit down." She laughed again, making Alfred wonder momentarily if she was secretly some kind of weirdo that took pleasure in other people's implicated imminent dooms. "This card is nothing to worry about at all, dear me, no. Keep your head about you, it's fine. I resent the day that Hollywood seen fit to use these in their dreadful horror films."

"Hey, Hollywood movies are awesome!" He surprised them both a little with his declaration, but it was reflex from hanging around with Arthur, who liked to make jabs at his movies any chance he got. Alfred had the decency to look somewhat sheepish as he apologized. "Er, sorry. Force of habit. Um, go on."

"…Yes. As I was saying, movies have given this poor darling a horrible reputation, but it's not something that suggests you're going to die. In fact, it's a very good card. Death, number thirteen: Normally, this one means that something painful in your life is going to come to an end and that many changes lie ahead. You drew it upside-down, though, which is called 'inverted' or 'reversed'. With Death, that makes the meaning more like, 'with every end is also a new beginning'. It means the start of something that stems from another situation coming to a close, or that something new and wonderful is soon going to enter your life. In any case, I would say that it's something very good to pull; Wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, that doesn't sound too bad at all." He gave her one of his winning smiles and slouched back a bit in his chair. "I mean, not that I was worried or anything." _After all_, he thought, but chose not to add in case it would insult the friendly woman, _I don't actually __**believe**__ in this stuff anyway_.

"No, of course not." She gave him a knowing smile and a dismissive wave. "Well, you best be off then. That friend you mentioned will be looking for you."

"Oh, um, yeah. I guess I've been gone a while, so he probably-"

_"London calling, to the faraway towns~ Now war is declared, and battle come down~ London calling, to the underworld~ Come out of the cupboards, you boys and girls~"_ **(3)**

The fortune-teller smiled from across the table. "That'll be him, then. You'd better get it."

Alfred took the time to stare at her in a skeptical sort of awe, then came to his senses and fished his phone out from his pocket, flipping it open to press to his ear. "Hey, Arthur. You finished with your dead plants?" He asked, not taking his eyes off of the other occupant of the little velvet tent.

"I've _been_ finished with my 'dead plants', you twat." Came the reply from the other end of the line, "When you failed to be in the immediate area, I found some other shops to occupy myself until you turned up. However, you _didn't_ turn up. Which would be fine- It's not like I really care, after all- But one of those performances you'd wanted to see is starting soon and I don't want to listen to you whine later. So, where are you?"

"I'm on my way. Which stage?"

"The one near to where a group of Vikings that seem to be employed here as an attraction are loitering in the streets."

"I'm real close to that. It should only take me a minute; I'll find you when I get there. Okay?"

"Yes, alright. I'll see you shortly, then."

Alfred said a quick goodbye, snapping his phone shut afterwards and stashing it away again before he addressed the woman who'd been smiling at him amusedly all through the short phone conversation. "Was that just good timing or did you actually know he was going to call?"

Her grin only widened, making her look quite pleased with herself. "Which do you think?"

"…Yeah, well. I gotta get a move on, or Art's gunna chew my ear off. Are you sure you don't want me to-"

"No, no. Go on and find your friend, darling. I'd hate for you to get into trouble on my account." She pulled open the flap of her tent and shooed Alfred out. "Off with you, then."

"Okay, okay, I'm goin', lady. Jeez. Thanks for the uh.. Thing with the cards."

"You're welcome, now scoot."

Alfred gave her a look of 'Wow, you're a strange one' over his shoulder as he was ushered out onto the beaten-earth street, as well as a small wave, then gave the area a short once-over to get his bearings. Determining where exactly he was and in which direction he needed to go, he strode away towards where he could just hardly see the stage he was to meet his fellow nation by.

It was much easier than usual to locate the island nation in the seated crowd, what with the plumed pirate had and all. Alfred pushed his way through the group, calling apologies so loud that by the time he'd sidled up to Arthur on the bench, the Englishman had been watching him unamusedly for nearly two full minutes.

"What were you doing?" Arthur asked as the bother boy got himself situated. "And what the hell is that?" He gestured to the little dragon perched on Alfred's shoulder, furrowing his brows.

"I was talkin' to some chick. And this," He got a hold of the trigger control for the little puppet and made it turn it's little head and flick it's tail, "Is Phillip. Ain't he adorable?"

"Isn't."

"You don't like him? But he's awesome!"

"No, idiot, I was correcting your grammar. The toy is.. Cute. It doesn't look like a _real_ dragon, of course, but-"

"You are not seriously going to try and tell me that you've seen a dragon."

"Well, yes. Wales is considerably infatuated with them. It's his national animal, you know."

"You guys are all totally nuts. Oh! That reminds me, though." He dug around in his pockets and produced the little crystal suncatcher he'd gotten and depositing it into Arthur's hand. "Here, I got this for your pretend fairies, 'cus you said they like shiny stuff. Maybe now they'll stop stealing your keys, huh?"

"They are _not fucking imaginary_. They also aren't likely to stop making off with my keys, but thank you. I'm sure they'll like it."

"You know, one of these days I'm going to have to drag you in for psychological testing."

"Try it and I'll do things to you that no therapist or plastic surgeon on the face of the earth will ever be able repair."

Their conversation stopped there, courtesy of a lone man who took the stage, announcing that the show was now to start and introducing himself afterwards. He turned out to be something of a jack of all trades, entertaining his audience magic tricks, comedy skits, improvisation, dancing on stilts, and nearly everything in between. He even did miming, for god's sakes! It was really rather incredible, all the different talents the man managed to work into a single show.

When that performance was over, things became a little chaotic thanks to Alfred's refusal to make any sort of plan or schedule combined with the fact that they only had a few more hours left before everyone would be kicked off the property for the night. They rushed around the grounds, trying (and mostly succeeding, even if it often left them somewhat winded) to see this show or visit that store between being coerced into impromptu photoshoots. They managed, though; They had tea with the fair's queen (Well, _Arthur_ had tea with the queen. Alfred gradually dumped his own drink out of his cup under the table when no one was looking, and very narrowly avoided a throttling when Arthur caught him at it), witnessed belly-dancing gypsies, a band of privateers playing music and cracking jokes, and _would_ have engaged in dancing around a may-pole if Arthur hadn't deemed it undignified and blatantly refused. Alfred even managed to bribe the festival's wandering bard to play them a very bizarre, renaissance-style ballad version of Lady Gaga's 'Poker Face' on an acoustic guitar, complete with Irish-accented vocals. They hit all of the most interesting shops and booths, as well as most of the less noteworthy, Arthur coming out of it with a hickory bow decorated by carvings of ivy and a quiver of arrows to go with it, amusing Alfred terribly after the lecture he'd gotten about buying useless things when he'd purchased a sleek longsword to put on display in his foyer. Along the way they partook of at least half of the different varieties of food being offered around the fair, nearly none of which were even remotely appropriate for an Elizabethan-themed festival, but were delicious none the less.

When they were finally forced to abandon the Marshall fairgrounds and return to their bed and breakfast, their bellies were well over-loaded with a downright obscene number of calories, and they were weighed down mildly with all the goods they'd obtained during the day, the majority of which being things they'd have never wasted money on in any other circumstances. **(4)**

-

~*~

* * *

  
**(1)** The shanty Arthur sang while they were waiting on their cab is called Liverpool Girls, and has no particular musician. I was pretty pleased when I stumbled across this one. :p

**(2)** Lotus flowers are very commonly used in henna designs. One of the symbolic meanings of lotus, though, is 'Estranged Love'.

**(3)** This is (in case by some wild stretch of the imagination someone reading this doesn't know) London Calling by The Clash. Alfred seems like the kind of person who'd set a different ringtone for everyone on his contact list so as to be able to screen his calls. xD And what could be better for England than having your phone warn you that London is calling?

**(4)** Renaissance Festivals, in my experience, tend to have a particular effect on most of the people who turn up for them. Namely, everyone is very prone to burning money on things that they would otherwise recognize as being an unadvisable use of funds. So you'll go home and realize you've just blown an absurd amount of cash on things that you _really_ didn't need. Especially in Michigan (Oh great, now I've got the RHCP song in my head). I've worked at that really big awesome fair I've mentioned in here, and with how completely atrocious our state's economy is, it's crazy how much everyone is willing to throw down for things that they can very often buy online or summat for a fraction of the price.

On a side note, I didn't realize how much of a pain in the ass it would be to bullshit a tarot reading. Seriously, don't ever do it. xD I'm fussy, so I had to break out the book that goes with my own cards and read through every single one to pick out which I wanted to use, and now the whole thing seems kind of pointless and I wish I hadn't put it in.

* * *

-

The next morning found the nations up bright and early to pack up their things, grab a fast meal, make their way to the outskirts of the town to where Alfred's plane was being kept, and prep it for their departure to Virginia.

Only it wasn't actually a bright morning at all. When they'd arrived at the barn the plane was being stored in, the sky was blanketed in thick dark clouds, blocking the sunlight so effectively that it could almost pass for being early evening. Strong winds were blowing through, carrying upon them the moist, fresh scent of an impending downpour and making the boys struggle slightly to get through all the flight preparations. Sometime between loading their things into the plane's storage compartment and checking the fuel, a timid drizzle of rain began, spattering them with small droplets of water.

Arthur wasn't feeling too keen on flying at all with the way the weather was looking, but Alfred felt confident that it would only be a small rainstorm, and that they were fully able to fly right through it to clearer skies. Reluctantly, due to the fact that he'd need to be on his way back to London the following day, Arthur relented. Only a tiny bit behind schedule, they made it through their pre-flight checklist, proving everything to once again be in good working order. By the time they climbed into the cockpit, the rain had well picked up, and when they'd successfully gotten the plane into the air, it was downright pouring.

The first hour or so of flight was difficult; The wind was even stronger at their higher altitude, and was putting up a lot of resistance as it was, unfortunately, blowing against them. Not only did this make for a bumpy, turbulence-laden ride, but it was also adding to their travel time, both of which put Arthur in a particularly disagreeable mood. Nearly every other word out of his mouth was some sort of insult or complaint, which, in turn, took its toll on Alfred's own humor. Within twenty minutes of take-off they were screaming at one another about anything they could possibly think to pick a fight over bar a few certain topics that were deemed off-limits with an unspoken agreement. The only reason their hollering match didn't come to blows was the fact that neither of them especially wanted to drop out of the sky when they would inevitably neglect to properly operate their transportation in favor of trying to choke the life out of each other.

Luckily, although the air continued to be blotched by heavy clouds, they progressively grew from the threatening black-grey color as the plane courageously pushed on to a much more agreeable shade, even if they weren't quite a perfect downy white, and the wind stopped fighting against the plane so violently, allowing the flight to smooth out considerably. The easier travel worked wonders for the blondes' temperaments, and after a small spell of determinedly ignoring the other's existence, they tumbled back into each other's relatively good graces when Alfred flipped on his Ipod to a mutually agreeable song, effectively distracting them from their seething long enough for them to overlook the fact that they'd have liked to kill each other not but minutes before and start a tentative conversation over some of the strange characters they'd encountered in Michigan.

When they were somewhere near to the border between Ohio and West Virginia, Arthur made the joyous discovery of Harry Potter audio book files stashed away in the mp3's on the Ipod, and after a lecture on Alfred's laziness for not simply _reading_ the damn books that were so well liked in his country, the set of files were selected and made to play. Being that they were both well familiar with the story, however, it mostly served as a topic of conversation, the pair going into lengthy discussions on this scene or that character, or how irritated Arthur was with one thing or another getting left out of the movies, which sent him into vast enraged rants complete with gesticulation and left Alfred in tears from how much he'd laughed. Eventually, though, they exhausted the subject and lapsed into a rare lasting moment of companionable quiet between the two of them, and Alfred took the time to reflect a little on their holiday.

It had really been rather nice, he thought. It'd been quite a long while since they'd last set aside any time to spend together- Or, really, since they'd been on good terms with each other for long enough to _want_ to spend an extended period in one another's company, as they often found themselves not speaking to each other for weeks on end on account of petty arguments that they'd both been too stubborn to back down from. It was especially uncommon for them to get along this time of year, as Arthur would always get particularly intolerant and touchy when it neared to the summer.

But, all things considered, they'd done very well this last week. With all the traveling and being stuck together almost constantly the entire time, it was surprising that they'd managed not to cause each other serious bodily harm. Yeah, they'd argued quite a lot, but they _always_ argued; It would be worrisome if they _didn't_ find reason to be irritated with each other at least once in the span of a day. It was just unheard of. The important thing was that they'd had fun between the little fights, and he'd probably learned more of Arthur's little quirks over the last seven-and-a-half days then he'd picked up through the entirety of the last decade.

He opened his mouth to make a comment to Arthur about how nice it had been hanging out with him (Okay, so he was _really_ just going to say that the smaller man was 'a little less boring than he'd thought', and that 'it wasn't _that_ bad spending the week together', but he felt sure that Arthur would recognize the compliment. Or hit him, one of the two), but a red light on the dashboard started flashing, stealing away his attention. The American furrowed his eyebrows at it and leaned a bit closer, trying to recall what that particular light was for.

"Oi. Watch where we're going, git, else we're going to fly into a flock of birds or something." Arthur told him offhandedly, not actually sounding particularly concerned. "What are you looking at?"

"This little light right here just-"

He was cut off by an alarm sounding, filling the cockpit with a high-pitched keening, and although it wasn't at an unreasonable volume, it nearly made the both of them jump out of their skins; Alarms going off in a plane was _never_ a good thing, let alone if they were already in the air. Immediately they we both falling all over themselves trying to check all of the dials and gauges of the plane, searching for the problem, the Icon A5 slowly losing altitude all the while in a slope towards the earth below. After a few moments of panicked, frustrated searching and yelling, Alfred located the source of their issue.

"Oh… Oh, fuck." He said, gawking at the dash while another set of bulbs joined the first in blinking.

"'Oh, fuck'? What the hell do you mean, 'Oh, fuck', Alfred?!"

"You, uh… Ya' know how, when we left, you didn't really want to take off yet because of the weather and stuff? Well…"

"Well _what_?!"

"I… Guess we should have waited out the storm, 'cus, er, we sort of… Burned through a _little_ too much of the fuel going against those headwinds and-"

"We ran out of fucking fuel?!"

"Yeeaah… And, y'know, planes can't exactly stay in the sky without fuel for the engines, so… Um, brace for impact? We're goin' down."

Arthur took in a deep, shaky breath, letting it out slowly while he attempted to calm his quickly fraying nerves. "America. If we survive this plane crash, I am going to _bloody fucking __**kill**__ you_!"

-

* * *

**A/N**: Enjoy your cliff-hanger. [Insert maniacal laughter here]

Seriously, guys, thanks for being so patient with me on this one. Even with all the stuff going on, there's totally no excuse for exactly how long it took me to get this out. I'll try really hard to get you the next one in a more timely fashion. I'm going to start working on it as soon as I get this one posted. I hope you weren't TOO disappointed.

Also, obvious foreshadowing is obvious. I wish I hadn't put that in, it's totally lame and unneeded.

So, as per usual, I will plead with you to please feed this author's ego and **review**.

I _so_ love you guys. (heart) Carbon out.


	9. FML NOTE

Hey guys.  
So… My Grandpa didn't make it.  
I'm too exhausted right now to try and explain everything. Just, yeah. It happened yesterday, and a bunch of my family and I were in the room with him when it happened, but he'd been in a coma so it went really easy for him, even though it took all day.  
Now, the big reason I'm telling you guys this, is that my Grandma lives three hours away from the whole rest of the family. She's not been alone in more than 30 years, and she's got no choice but to go back to her house at least for a little while, to get some things worked out.  
Well. We, of course, don't want her to be up there by herself, but there isn't a whole lot we can do, since it's impossible to drop your job or schooling for long.

Buut.. I'm out of school, and I haven't been able to get a job yet. So I made the executive decision to go stay with her for a while. I'm not sure how long for; Two weeks at the least, probably around a month at the most.  
I SHOULD be able to get access to the internet there, but I don't know for sure, and god only knows what exactly I'm gunna be doing. I'm going to TRY and keep going with this story so long as whatever allows, but ya know. With all this shit going on I'm not going to push too hard.

For now I'm going to have to put shit on hold a bit, until after the funeral and probably until after I get settled up north and shit. Just wanted to give y'all the heads up, and I know all of you are awesome and are gunna be cool and understanding, but I'm still sorry that the shit's going down and interfering with the story.

Hopefully I'll talk to y'all soon.

~ _Carbon Black_


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